


If You Can't Say Anything Nice

by AnonAnton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Accountant Castiel, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anonymity, Dean Hates Himself, Dean is forced to listen to what people really think about him, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Homeless Castiel, M/M, Mature Students, Physical Abuse, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Student Castiel, Student Dean, Supportive Gabriel, meg version 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAnton/pseuds/AnonAnton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the <a href="http://spnhiatuscreations.tumblr.com/">SPN Hiatus Creations</a> Week Three Challenge (Dean Winchester) over of on Tumblr. You can find me on Tumblr <a href="http://anonymousantonym.tumblr.com/">here</a>. </p><p>Dean is forced to listen to what his classmates really think of him, friends and strangers alike. One stranger specifically seems to have him worked out even before Dean himself has, but even the stranger's kindness cannot force Dean's past where it firmly belongs.</p><p>Castiel only wants to help save someone where he, himself, cannot be saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“All right guys, I know this is a load of crap, but seeing as every other lecture room is being used, and ours seems to have been conveniently flooded because of the rain, and the dubious drains in this shit hole, we're bunking up with Drama and just doing some simple trust- and getting-to-know-you exercises.”

 

Dean leaned back and groaned along with the rest of his class. It was the first week back of his last year at uni, and no one could afford to cut out, especially as their surprisingly peppy sounding, yet terrifyingly strict lecturer was watching them all intently with his hangover clouded eyes.

 

He was a “mature” student, although he scoffed at the term, studying Mechanical Engineering, but with a side of 'General Studies' thrown in. His mentor had suggested the course which would act as, not only a break from the intense schedule of intricate machinery and schematics, but it would keep him sane and capable of human interaction once he secured himself a job in the real world. Plus, being a little older than most, he could easily keep up with his work load and the extra course. The course was a little odd however, now in his second year on it, and just as quirky as the lecturer. They studied a little Shakespeare, held a beer and food pairing evening, they looked in to astronomy, mythology, string theory, the history of the vacuum cleaner, the invention of the enigma machine and how to cook a decent beef Wellington.

 

Today, Chuck's lecture was supposed to be 'a brief history of South American civilizations, including the Wari and the Inca.' Dean had been looking forward to a mildly interesting hour spent semi-dozing and letting the cuts on his hands have half a chance to heal, instead of being buried in an engine.

 

“So, first off we're just going to introduce ourselves and give a short fact about ourselves, something interesting.”

 

The red headed Drama tutor looked a little pissed off with the addition of thirty uninterested students sitting in on her first year class. They all had that rabbit-in-the-headlights look that new students tended to have, especially when confronted with a large group of young adults who knew the ropes and were pretty past giving a damn about anything very much at that point, apart from finishing with a half decent grade and a job opportunity.

 

The first twenty minuets were dull, listening to the people he knew repeating facts about themselves that he had all ready heard, and people he couldn't give a damn about saying boring stuff about their cats or favourite book or best karaoke performance.

 

The second twenty minutes were spent doing the awful, 'fall back and I will catch you' kind of bull shit that Dean had always hated. It was especially awful for him as he had giant trust issues with those that he liked, let alone eighteen year old strangers. At least with the people from his class, he had at least spoken to some of them, and was half decent friends with another couple of them.

 

“Okay, enough of that” Chuck shouted, having a more commanding presence, surprisingly, than the quiet Drama teacher. Dean let out a sigh of relief. “Right, so, Anna over there has a stack of paper. For the last bit of the session we're going to do an exercise I like to call 'If you can't say anything nice, say something true, but still nice, and if you can't say anything nice, or true, make some nice shit up anyway.' This is an anonymous note writing exercise. I want you to write a note to as many people as you can over the next ten minutes or so, fold it up, write their name on it, then leave it in the pile on Anna's table. For the last few minutes you'll read the _really fucking lovely things_ that everyone else thinks about you. The idea is to be _nice_ to one another, to make people feel good, to encourage and help each other without the fear of being identified, so you can be as saccharine as you wish. If I find unpleasant or cruel crap on these notes, please remember that _I know what your handwriting looks like. I will find you._ Got it? Good! Go!”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed a small stack of paper, along with everyone else grumbling. He quickly eyed the assembled people in the room and started scribbling.

 

What seemed like an age, and yet no time at all later, Chuck yelled at the class to finish their last note and hand them over to Anna. A few minutes of confusion whilst the notes were handed to the people they were addressed to, and they were told to read, absorb and feel good about what people were thinking about them.

 

Dean took a breath thinking all his would be bullshit, made up crap, and opened the first one.

 

_You seem friendly and you have a nice smile._

 

Well, that was easy enough to deal with. He couldn't deny he looked charming when he wanted to, and he had flashed his grin at a few of the people in the room that day, mostly so that they wouldn't drop him though. Seemed friendly? After only a few minutes acquaintance they wouldn't have got a chance to see the real him, so he supposed that that would be an accurate assessment of how he came across to most people.

 

_You're hot!_

 

Dean sighed. Yeah, he knew he wasn't ugly. But everyone he met, whether a friend or as something more, usually ran the second they managed to look past his looks. He was grateful for them, because at least he occasionally got laid, but once most people tried to get to know him? Well, it seemed his face wasn't entrancing enough for that, he was too poisonous. He had Sammy, and maybe two or three others who could cope with a conversation with him.

 

_Well, I don't know you so I'm going to have to make something up I'm afraid. I bet you're great with kids!_

 

He smiled a little as this one. At least they were honest about not having a clue about him. And, he shrugged a little, it was kind of true. After looking after his brother for so long, well past the age that his brother really needed him, he was sort of predisposed to look after everyone around him.

 

He skimmed through another ten or so, many appraising his looks. Not one of them showed any sign of knowing him. He knew he kept to himself a little, but it was depressing, something this exercise was supposedly not meant to be. What was wrong with him?

 

He opened the next note and recognized the hand writing.

 

_Heya brother, no way you don't know who this is huh? Sooo. I know you don't so think much of your self a lot, but you're the most loyal friend a guy could have, and I'm proud to count you among my best friends. Stay strong brother._

 

Dean smiled again, a little more widely. Benny was a rock for him, solid, but the guy was vulnerable too at times. Dean loved being able to help him out, even if it was just grabbing him to go out for a coffee. They didn't need to talk too much. They got each other. He was surprised at the feeling of warmth Benny's note elicited in him. He, up until that moment, had though of Benny as a good guy, they got on when they hung out, he was a friend, yeah, but- He hadn't believed Benny gave a genuine crap about him, and thus he hadn't put his all in to the relationship. He felt ashamed that Benny seemed to think so highly of him when he'd done nothing to earn it.

 

He flipped through another couple of 'you're fit's' and 'I'd totally date you's' rolling his eyes, because, no, they wouldn't.

 

_There are times when I look up to you like an older brother._

 

Dean, de s pite the more  anonymous nature of this note, still knew if was from one  the people on this course he counted a friend . They hung out from time to time,  but again, it seemed he had underestimated how they thought of him. He'd never thought she saw him like that though, always thinking she had helped him through tough moments far more than he had ever helped her. Charlie was vivacious, smart and geeky. He actually felt a little warmed at her words,  wondering what he had done to deserve them .

 

He flipped the paper, words down, to join the others he had already read, and noticed some scrawl on the reverse side, folded behind his name so he hadn’t seen it before.

 

_There are times when you're an annoying dweeb too of course. Peace out handmaiden._

 

Dean sniggered out loud and raised an eyebrow, wondering what the fuck she was talking about.

 

The next was interesting in that it was a little more suggestive then the rest.

 

_If you call me, I can tell any nice thing you like._

 

The words were followed by a phone number. He sighed and chucked it on the 'read' pile with the others.

 

Near the bottom of the pile now he opened another note wondering if perhaps Jody had written him something. They'd shared a few words, and he liked her well enough.

 

Inside was, not so much a note, but an essay.

 

_Dean. I am relying on the anonymity that this exercise is finally giving me. I have been aware of your – existence – shall I say, for some time. I don't believe you know me, or have ever noticed me._

 

_For some reason I feel a bond with you, I have ever since I first saw you. Although I will never act on this feeling, I wish to let you know what I think and feel about you. I hope it will not make you uncomfortable._

 

_The first time I saw you I had this feeling that you were important, I couldn't take my eyes from you. You are certainly attractive, but that is not what caught or held my attention. You have a purity, and honesty to you that I saw the first instant. Do not ask me how I know. There is something about you which gives off an aura of cutting to the chase, of no bullshit, of having no time for sycophants or fools. Yet I have seen time and time again that you are kind and thoughtful. This I can tell from your answers in class._

 

As Dean read this sentence, confirming that they did in fact share their General Studies class both year and the last, he looked up and around the room, hoping to get a hint of who had written the note. The handwriting was firm, slanted but not too loopy. It told him nothing, not least because Chuck had done a lecture on Graphology at the end of the previous year and ranted about how it told nothing about the person what so ever. It's only application was when compared to another sample of the person's writing, confirming that they did, in fact write what was written. No one was looking up, let alone at him.

 

_I believe you to be loyal and faithful, almost to a fault, and almost certainly to your own detriment at times. From something you mentioned in class to Chuck once, I believe you to love fiercely and quickly, but that you try not to let your self fall. You perceive it to be a weakness?_

 

_I don't pretend to know much about you in reality, only what you have shared in class, intentionally or otherwise. I see you with your friends. They adore you and look up to you. I've heard you talk of your brother, and you seem filled with pride. It's the only time I see a truly happy smile on your face; when you talk about him. It saddens me that you are not usually that happy._

 

_I wish I was able to change that for you. I cannot, or will not begin to guess at what has caused you to be so sad, but you look heart broken much of the time. Hollow and haunted._

 

_I suspect though, you are the type of man who, once he has the loyalty of others, never loses it, that your friends would die for you. I know, that with out even having spoken to you, I feel that way for you. I would wish for nothing more than to be able to lighten your load, to protect and stand by you._

 

_I apologise for, probably, being inappropriate, but I hope that my words, their honesty, help you through the tough times that you so obviously have to bare._

 

Dean sat still, staring at the words. How had someone, who professed to having never spoken to him, learnt so much about him? It was true, there were none of the details of his life, but the person seemed to have seen right through him.

 

The realisation that someone _knew_ _him_ so thoroughly, purely through observation terrified him. He certainly didn't agree with it all though. Only Sam, his brother, would lay down his life for Dean. He had only, in the last few minutes discovered that his friends _were_ his friends, and not simply acquaintances. He certainly didn't believe they were that devoted to him. Not a chance. He couldn't imagine anyone giving that much of a shit about him. Although he had loved his father, he had used Dean like a tool. He had expected ruthless perfection and efficiency from Dean. He knew from a very young age just how much, and what, he was worth to the two people in his life. Discovering that he meant something to other people was hard to swallow. To discover that someone had known before him seemed insane.

 

Since his father had gone though, he had questioned his identity, had to re-think the things about himself that he thought he knew. With their dad out of the picture he still had to protect Sammy, even more so, but they could plan for a future for themselves. Sam had helped a lot, but he knew he wasn't worthy of friends or even the career he was hoping to carve out for himself now that Sam no longer needed him. His father, for reasons known only to himself had taken them on the road mere hours after their mother's death. It had been drilled in to him that his job was to look after Sammy. Any and every failure to do so proved that that was all he was good for, and even then he wasn't very good at his job. The scars on his back attested to that. He deserved the punishment his father doled out to him.

 

But, this stranger had, without knowing the whys and wherefores, known that he would do anything for Sammy, and had done anything his dad had asked, whether it was detrimental to his health and happiness or not.

 

And, somehow he had been able to tell that Dean was not happy. Not happy at all. He could somehow divine that Dean was so unhappy most of the time that he drank through the long quiet weekends hoping that his brother would call, but not daring to call him himself in case the man felt cramped by Dean. Somehow he knew that Dean was lonely and hated himself, thought he was pointless and worthless. Somehow he knew that Dean was just going through the motions. That Dean had no real plan. That Dean was kind of just done.

 

Not suicidal, no. But- Simply. Just. Done.

 

He scans the page again, all other notes forgotten.

 

“ _I would wish for nothing more than to be able to lighten your load,_ _to protect and stand by you.” “I apologise for, probably, being inappropriate, but I hope that my words, their honesty, help you through the tough times that you so obviously have to bare.”_

 

It was excruciating the feeling those words caused. He wanted to let this complete stranger in. This person who had seen through his façade so thoroughly. But how could he do that, letting even one inch slip would bring the whole wall crashing down.

 

He looked up and scanned the room again. There was Benny, the bear of a man, obviously finished reading his own notes, laughing with a blonde with short hair from the Drama course. Charlie was in the corner smiling at a bit of paper in her hand. There were many other people talking quietly or reading still. One or two seemed to be rubbing at their eyes. Chuck was smiling benignly surveying the scene and Anna seemed to be hugging a rather chubby girl who was in tears, yet smiling broadly.

 

No one caught his eye. No one looked at him.

 

“Right!” Chuck's yell startled him. “Enough of this nonsense! You can chuck the notes or keep 'em it's up to you. But, we're done here. I will see you next week in Lecture Hall 4 as usual unless Noah escapes God's wrath and He decides to let the flood continue until Monday.”

 

Everyone got up and started milling about, collecting bags and filing towards the cafeteria. Dean felt winded. Everyone was behaving as if their world hadn't just been turned upside down, apart from perhaps the smiling and crying girl in Anna's arms still. Dean couldn't move, didn't know what or who he was any longer.

 

After a long moment he whispered quietly to himself. “Pull your self together Dean.” He watched the door way empty of people as they left the room. He shook his head, ran his hand through his hair, squared his shoulders and marched through the door, determined not to think of the note, it's earth shattering contents and the mysterious author.

 

 

 

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of quiet blue eyes watched him leave from the dark corner in the back of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note changed tags.

Castiel slumped back on the crappy sofa-bed which sat in the centre of his apartment. Biting his lip he thought back to the morning's lecture, back to the note he had given Dean. Why on God's green fucking earth had he written that? He'd just meant to reassure the guy that someone had noticed him, that he had people about him that cared about him. But, no. He had gone and written all that crap about feeling a bond with him. 

It was true, he did, but it was only after he'd watched Dean dazedly walk from the drama studio that he had realised in what light that note could be read. He did feel a bond with the man, but it was as a protector, a brother. He wanted to help him, to heal him. 

He was so fucking glad that he had not signed it, nor left any indication as to who he was. He had sat himself far enough away from the guy that Dean hadn't been able to see him slumped behind some of the first year drama kids. He just had to hope that Dean would forget and continue to never notice his existence in class. He'd only wanted to comfort Dean, not sound like a creepy dude with an epic crush for heavens sake! He had to remind himself that Dean was not a stray kitten to be collected, nor a project to be worked on. He was a person, and didn't need Cas' ham handed attempt at cheering him up.

Jesus what had he been thinking?

He stared in to space for a little while, wondering if he should leave another note for the man somehow, to apologise, to ask forgiveness for over stepping the boundaries of propriety and to explain that he was only acting as a guardian. 

Cas shook his head in to the silent gloom of the dowdy room. Any more contact with Dean and he might be able to work out who he was. Yes, he wanted to act as a friend, to help him, but something akin to fear twisted sharply in his gut at the thought of having to speak to the man. This was why he sat out of sight in every lecture, this was why the exercises in the Drama studio had been practically torture for him, this was why he had a grand total of two people he talked to on a regular basis and no one else. 

Being cripplingly shy and socially awkward, always putting his foot in it, making other people uncomfortable, he had no desire to ever talk to Dean face to face, nor anyone else in that lecture, or any lecture, ever. 

Hence the note, he thought to himself, hence running his mouth out on paper. 

He sighed, thumping his head back on the ugly couch cushions, reliving his failure at social interaction even though a ridiculous exercise in class. 

A sound of a key scrabbling in the lock pulled him from his thoughts. He dragged himself up, knowing who would be entering the apartment. 

He swivelled in the chair and greeted his girlfriend with an attempt at a sincere smile.

“Hello Meg.”

“Why are you sitting all alone in the dark, Clarence?” Meg asked in her usual acidic tone.   
Castiel flinched a little but answered dutifully, yet perhaps not truthfully. “I was just tired from my day, Meg. I sat down a moment and got lost in my thoughts. That's all.”

Meg scoffed and rolled her eyes before sashaying in to their apartment. “Well, while you were busy thinking, or learning to count, or what ever it is that you do, I was off earning the money we need to put food on the table. So, you can go and make yourself useful and put the oven on, okay?” She prompted with a raised eyebrow and an unamused look. 

Castiel rose and sloped off toward their cramped kitchen, switching on the light to the living room as he went. He sighed, flicking the switch on the cooker and getting out a chopping board and a knife, knowing Meg would pass all the food she had brought home and expect him to make something for their dinner while she showered.

It was true that she worked all day while he was in school. But it wasn't as if he contributed nothing to their home. He not only had loans which covered his accommodation, but some grants and he worked sporadically too maintaining his core client list. 

It was just another item on the long list of reasons he needed to leave his girlfriend. 

Sadly, he had a list full of far more crucial reasons he couldn't leave her. 

He sighed again, a heavy exhalation of air, as Meg dumped the plastic bags on the chopping board he had set down. “I got stuff for bolognaise. I'm going to go and wash office off me.”

With that she marched from the room. Castiel wondered once again why in hell she didn't leave him.

The thing was, he knew he wouldn't be able to find anyone else to date, and he knew he needed someone. And, he knew how pathetic that made him. But, he was so horrifically shy that, left to his own devises, he probably wouldn't talk to anyone at all. Ever. By some insane turn of luck, and her tenacity rather than his ability, or even his own desire, to woo, Meg and he had met at the very end of high school, and they had never been apart since. She was the only reason he was going to school now, she was the reason he had moved out of his parents place, the reason he had moved states, the reason he was somewhat well turned out day to day and the reason he socialised even the small amount he did.

With out her he dreaded to think what he would have done once they graduated. He had helped Meg achieve a suitable grade, and she had fallen in to secretarial work straight from high school and never left. Castiel had tried to hold down a few jobs, but they had never worked out, his inability to talk to strangers made most work practically impossible for him. So, he had enrolled in his local college and got himself a degree in accounting, hoping he would be able to find work from home. After completing the course, he did indeed find work, and built up a steady stream of clients who he barely had to talk to, and when he did, he emailed. And now, he was back at school, improving on his knowledge base, adding more services to his repertoire. Advanced accounting, as Meg called it, with a side of humanities. 

Meg was full of hypocrisy, and despite having pushed and pushed him to enrol, to improve his skill set so that he could earn more money, she also bitched and whined that he was loosing custom by being back at school for so much of his time, that she earned all the money and supported his lazy ass, that she had been working since day one to support his disabilities. 

And that was when they weren't arguing. Well, when she wasn't arguing. Castiel never argued back. He just accepted what she had to say and tried to improve. But so often he had no where to improve to. What are you meant to do when one day it's; “You're too messy, clean up your shit!” and the next; “I can't live like this! It's like being in a hotel, why are you so OCD?” Or, “Fuck off, I don't want to have sex with you! Not when you're so flabby and disgusting!” (Castiel hadn't eaten for three days after that,) and the next moment, “Ugh, why don't you ever come on to me any more? Don't you find me attractive?” “You never go out, you're a hermit!” “Why are you talking to that person online? You should be talking to me.” “I'll get the groceries, let you get some studying done.” “Why don't you ever buy shopping?” “You never leave me house work to do, the place is only how you like it!” “Why do you always make me plan where things go?” And on, and on, and on. 

And, yet. Castiel was terrified of being alone. The verbal abuse he could put up with for being made to leave his home for something other than school every now and then. 

He still could not fathom why Meg put up with him though. For her to be driven to distraction the way she was by him, she truly must love him, or… As he sliced the carrots in to tiny cubes he tried to think of a reason beyond love that would keep her around. The only other reason that danced in the periphery of his consciousness was too big, too awful to comprehend. 

As Castiel grabbed the courgette and started dicing that too, he purposefully pushed his thoughts away from Meg. When he let himself dwell on their relationship he always found himself making pro- and con- lists, and they never stacked up in favour of staying with her. Except for the over riding need for someone to be willing to help him, to push him. 

With a shake of his head he forced his thoughts back to Dean.

The first time he had noticed the other man he had flopped down in front of Castiel's seat next to the bear of a man called Benny. Castiel usually did his best to sit at the sidelines of the lectures. At the front you got noticed by other students, at the back and the tutor took a special interest in you. In there middle there was too much risk of other students jostling, talking, engaging. At the edges, he could pay attention, and escape almost everybody else's in the process. That particular day Benny had sat down just before Chuck had stumbled in to the room, clearly running late. Moments after Chuck had started talking about feminism in Jane Austin, Dean had flung himself up the steps and in the seat next to Benny, covered in smudges of oil and with a bloody rag wrapped about his palm. 

Over the next hour he accidentally eavesdropped on their hissed conversation whilst he took notes about Emma, Elizabeth and Lydia. He discovered that Dean had cut himself in 'the workshop' because he had been distracted all day. Castiel learned that a phone call from someone called Sammy had caused the distraction. Seemingly this person had cancelled a visit. Benny, although at that stage he hadn't learnt either of their names, had been placating, but Dean had announced that he didn't blame his brother, it was perfectly fine, and he was okay about it. The next moment Chuck had shouted for Benny and Dean to shut the hell up. And thus Castiel had learnt not only their names, but the name of Dean's brother, that he was caring and easily upset when he thought he wasn't wanted.

Over the course of the second half of the lecture, Dean and Benny silently taking notes, Castiel had found himself thinking more and more about the man in front of him. He was attractive, confident, self assured and grinned readily if anyone focused on him. Yet, the conversation he had witnessed had piqued Castiel's interest. His friend had obviously not wanted to let the conversation drop, and only Chuck's intervention had saved Dean. Castiel found himself fascinated. He had wanted to find out more about this man with the hardened exterior and a vulnerable centre, one he knew he had never been meant to see.

The ringing of his phone broke him from his musings. Hoping Meg was still in the shower and wouldn't be able to hear the phone, he quickly dodged back in to the living room to grab it. Even recognising the only assigned ringtone in his phone, his guts still twisted in discomfort as he accepted the call. “Hello Gabriel.” He stated the greeting flatly, trying to hide his anxiety that even a phone call with his only relative he was on speaking terms with, still elicited. 

“Hey cuz'” Gabriel began, and simply the cadence of his voice caused Castiel's fear to kick in. Something was wrong. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, and dropping the minced beef in to the pan to fry so as to avoid Meg's retribution, Castiel rolled his eyes to heaven hoping for divine intervention. “What's wrong?” 

Gabriel sighed, himself. “I'm so fucking sorry Cassie. I know you'll get a load of shit for this.” That statement only served to worry Castiel more. “I can't make it down after all. Marcie just fuckin' quit and you know Grace went on maternity leave all ready, so she's completely out of the game. I have no staff Cassie. I can't leave the shop. I can't close it. I've already put up an advert for new workers, but I can't get anyone in before the weekend. I'm sorry dude.” And Castiel knew he was, he sounded on the verge of tears, but the thing was, knowing his cousin had to back out of their long standing bi-yearly visit was bad enough, but knowing how Meg would react- well.

“It's fine Gabriel. Thank you for letting me know.” 

“Cassie. You don't have to- You know you can-” Castiel knew what he was trying to say. Gabriel did not like Meg, nor their relationship. Gabriel had called him out numerous times about how unhealthy it seemed to him, but he had no idea how much Castiel needed it. Gabriel, seven years older than him, had never seen how much Castiel struggled before he met Meg. He didn't know how dependant he was on her for all things social. He didn't understand how insular he had been as a child, how completely alone.

“I know Gabriel. I do. Honestly. But I just don't know how- It doesn't matter.” He sighed. “I will inform Meg. I imagine we won't be able to meet again until March like usual. You know how it is.”

He heard a defeated sigh rattle through the phone. “Yeah kiddo, I know. I just wish I was closer y'know. I don't like you being out there all alone.”

“I'm not alone Gabriel. I have Meg.” He said, noting the resigned note in his own voice. “I have to finish dinner. I will speak to you next month.” He pulled the phone from his ear, stirring the meat in the pan before he heard Gabriel's tinny voice speaking out again.

“No man, I'm going to call next week. I want to make sure you're all right, okay? Damn her schedule.”

Castiel took in a huge breath and gritted his teeth. If Meg knew he spoke to Gabriel more frequently than she deemed acceptable then he would have to put up with her ire for weeks, but knowing he wouldn't see Gabriel for his visit, he decided it would be worth it. He hoped. 

“Okay Gabriel, just- call before class or something. Meg usually calls me on my lunch break and if she doesn't get through-” 

“I got you. Next week then.”

“Goodbye Gabriel.”

“See ya Cassie.”

Castiel stared at the phone as it disconnected, but hurriedly put it down, adding the other ingredients to the pan and stirring, hoping that his phone call wouldn't delay dinner. A hungry Meg and bad news were a terrible combination. 

He was just draining the spaghetti, bolognaise and grated parmesan already on the tiny dining table, bowls, cutlery and napkins set out with serving spoons at the ready, when Meg sauntered in. She sat down regally at the table, blond hair perfect, nails done and in navy blue silk pyjamas. Castiel placed a brimming glass of red wine in front of her. 

Half way through the meal, Castiel, clutching his water glass, steeled himself for the coming argument. “I have some news.” He stated, causing Meg to simply raise an eye brow at him. “Um,-” She pulled a face and instantly interrupted. “Don't um and ah, Clarence, spit it out.” Castiel didn't dare even close his eyes to gather himself again. “Gabriel called me whilst you were showering. He's been let down at work and won't be able to visit this weekend.”

Castiel continued to clutch the water glass, palms clammy, as if it were a shield, and awaited the explosion. 

“I'm sorry what?” She asked, although it was rhetorical. Castiel just lowered his eyes to the meal he hadn't wanted to eat since speaking with Gabriel. “Do you mean to tell me that after all that planning I did? After all that extra food I bought? After taking time off especially to pander to your cousin, that bastard has cancelled on me? After I bought a fold out couch especially? After I made sure we rented an apartment big enough?” She laughed, but Castiel knew she was far from amused. He also knew better than to point out that they had been living in this tiny space for years and Gabriel had been a concern when she picked it. That, yes, they had bought a sofa-bed, but it was for her friends as much as Gabriel, and it had been used multiple times since being purchased, not least by him when she refused to let him sleep in their bedroom. “I knew this would happen one day Clarence.” She sneered. “You're so lucky to have me really, if not even your cousin wants to see you any more. He's finally realised how weak you are, how worthless you are. I don't know why he's stuck around so long either really, your parents saw you for who you were early enough. That ass hole should have left you alone with me long ago. I don't think I'm going to let you see him any more you know? I need to protect you from him.”

Castiel cringed, noting each change of perspective, each statement that hardly followed on from it's predecessor. But, weirdly, all he could think of, was that day, just under a year ago. Meg was trying to make him feel the way the Dean had clearly made himself feel when his own brother had had to cancel on him. 

Meg's tongue lashing continued, her wine glass hit the wall behind his head, his bowl of food landed on the floor splattering kitchen cabinets and the linoleum. 

When she flounced off, he didn't even bother thinking about joining her in their room. On automatic pilot he cleaned up the mess, put the leftovers in the fridge, pulled out the sofa-bed and found the throw he would have to use as a blanket, and set his alarm early so that when Meg awoke, he could all ready have the room back to rights. 

All the while his thoughts were centred on Dean and how awful he must have felt if that was how his internal monologue had gone. He could only assume that his brother's cancelling on him had been as innocent as Gabriel's had been, but if it were, then he couldn't let that lie. The note he had written to Dean had probably come across wrong, and an attempt to help someone else when he couldn't help himself would give him the opportunity to clarify that too. His earlier worries be damned, he would simply have to be careful and not allow Dean to discover who he was.

He sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress of the couch and pulled his school bag on to his lap. He had homework to do, something he always had to do once Meg had gone to sleep in any case, but he ignored it. He rummaged until he found his notebook, slipped it from the bag and flipped past the dense notes and columns of numbers. 

Finding a blank page, and with a blank expression, he began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, So, this has taken me ages to wrangle in to the shape I wanted it to be in! All the work has been in my head for ages, but it wouldn't play nice. So, it's here finally! I guess it's gone in rather a different direction to that which most people would have expected? I would love to know peoples thoughts! Can't say when the next chapter will be out, but I have a vague plan!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! New chapter! This story is not abandoned! I'm sorry for taking for long to update. If you follow me on [Tumblr](http://anonymousantonym.tumblr.com/) you'll see I've been writing for this a lot, but it's kinda heavy so haven't edited until now! I'm about three chapters ahead (unedited) at this point, so there is definitely more coming! I would love to know if any one is still reading/enjoying or what you think of this story..!

Dean raised his head off his forearm and eyed his beer disdainfully. With a weary sigh and a groan he forced his arms to do his bidding and lump the half empty, luke-warm beer to his mouth. He drank the revolting stuff down in one go. Making a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, he glared at his phone once more, willing Sammy to text him like he had promised he would.

 

“Fuck this.” He hissed. He had been trying to write an essay for Chuck's class, but had been side tracked by his primary project for his engineering class, but had _then_ been sidetracked by beer and exhaustion and the unending waiting for Sam to bother contacting his shitty, boring, uninteresting older brother. He stared the pile of rulers, mechanical pencils, graph paper, messy note books, biros and erasers with a disgusted eye. He needed a break. From it all.

 

He had spent the entirety of the past week and a half dwelling on the three meaningful written notes during Chuck's first lecture that year. With the first two in mind, he had gone out of his way to find Benny one lunch time during the week and sat with him in the autumn sunshine eating their congealed pizza slices from the cafeteria. And, although spending time with Benny was not entirely unusual, it was possibly the first time he had sought it out intentionally. He had felt awkward and uncomfortable until Benny and tried the steal his pizza slice from under his nose. Their pathetic tussle of the greasy, cheesy triangle broke the tension easily and they fell in to surprisingly easy conversation. He didn't mention the note once, but it was folded up carefully within his wallet.

 

A few days later he had seen Charlie struggling to carry a laptop and a pile of books in her arms as she walked down the corridor linking the IT department with the main building via the lecture halls. He had bumped his shoulder in to hers purposefully and caught the laptop she dropped in surprise with a grin. He had demanded that he take her for coffee and she had agreed with a startled but happy look on her face. They had talked of nothing more than classes and her piece of shit car, but when Charlie had left, a slightly more organised pile clutched in her arms, she had had a bemused and pleased look on her face. Dean had felt warm and satisfied for hours afterwards. Her note, too, was nestled against the photograph of him and his mother inside his wallet.

 

But those notes and their resultant, hesitant interactions were not what had led his brain to exhaustion from thinking round and around in circles. The anonymous note, folded so carefully alongside the others had been the true focus point of his thoughts for the last ten days or so. He had spent the entirety of Chuck's class on Thursday looking around the room trying to catch the eye of anyone, anyone who may have been looking in his direction. The only eye he caught was that of Benny three rows over who nodded and sent him a lazy smile. He even twisted behind him and peered up in to the darkened heights of the lecture hall, but saw only a couple of occupied seats, one entirely obscured by a worn book bag and a pile of grey textbooks.

 

The time spent with Benny and Charlie had been easy, surprisingly easy, but exhausting nonetheless. He had felt the stress and the strain of it. The self doubt and lingering disbelief, the knowledge of inadequacy. But, the time spent dwelling on the identity of the anonymous note writer caused him almost as much strain.

 

Finally heaving himself out of his chair, Dean decided that what he needed was some respite from the thoughts running circles through his mind. He wanted to drown out the incessant voice with cheap beer, rough whiskey, searing music, grinding bodies and the oblivion of sex. It was a fall back he hadn't indulged in nearly as much since settling down for good when he and Sammy both started attending school, but when they had been constantly on the move, it had been the only release he knew. It was still the only release he knew.

 

He jumped in his boxy shower, quickly scrubbing himself clean with the generic 'Ocean' smell shower gel. Wrapped tightly in a towel he assessed his reflection quickly, as ever surprised when he didn't find the evidence of a fading bruise littering his cheeks or torso. It had been years, yet his father's legacy was still the expectation.

 

Shaking his head he threw on his cleanest, nicest clothes. His one pair of smart jeans, no holes or tears, and a grey-black button up shirt, left open at the neck. Some girl had thrown it at him as he'd left her apartment from the kitchen window once. He figured it was her boyfriend's, and felt no desire to give it back. They had left the city the next week in any case. He couldn't even remember where that had been.

 

He doused himself liberally in body spray, knowing the smell could wear off within minutes, and ran gel through his hair. He realised he hadn't shaved and decided he didn't care sufficiently. He grabbed his wallet and phone, and a couple of condoms from his bedside table. He lifted his keys from beside the front door and left, the cold evening air making him shiver and walk quickly to the nearest bar. He'd get one drink there and see where the night took him.

 

He was four beers deep when he found himself in a bar he had never visited before. The clientèle were a little classier than his usual drinking companions, the beer was nicer and stronger and pricier too. The women were much the same though, he had to concede. He sighed, surprised he'd even been allowed through the door. He got to the bar and just asked for what ever was good and got a disapproving glance from the server. The glass was slammed in front of him and he grinned a sarcastic thank you. He sipped the beer and had to admit to himself that it was superior, but he moved away from the bar, planning on only staying for one.

 

It was late. The bar was empting. His whiskey glass seemed to keep refilling. The girl next to him was beautiful and entirely vapid. She was also on her way to being drunk. Not nearly as drunk as Dean was though.

 

He slammed down the whiskey glass and the girl waved for the bar tender again. The same one who had served Dean his first beer there. Dean shook his head and flailed his hands. “No! 'Nuff! 'Nuff! 'Nuff! I'mmmm… done.” He slurred, looking at the girl next to him. She was practically leering at him. He blanched a little at her intense expression, but shrugged internally. This was what he wanted, right? “Come back to mine?” She asked in the most faux coy tone even drunk Dean had heard. Dean made a non-committal noise and was happy that she took the lead. The cab ride was a blur for Dean, just motion and colour. The lift ride up to her place was clearer, with her hot body pressed up against his, grinding her knee between his legs, hands clenching at his sides, sticky lips locked on to his jaw and neck. He was pleased in an abstract way that she didn't want to kiss his mouth.

 

They fell through the doors and along the corridor, Dean's head thankfully starting to clear a little. They got in to her apartment, far smaller and more miserable than her outward appearance would suggest.

 

“I- I need water.” He stated before she could latch on to him again. She laughingly stumbled in to her kitchen and handed him a pint glass full, which he downed in one go, followed by another. With his head a little less muffled and slow he could see the state she was in. Lip gloss and eyeliner smeared with a glazed grin on her face, watching him grip the empty glass.

 

He knew, if he were sober, he would have run a mile, but, oblivion he had intended, and there it was, stood in front of him. “Come on then handsome.” She said in a tone of voice that was probably meant to be lascivious. “You sure?” He questioned, eyeing her out of focus gaze with his own. She just sneered and pulled him though her flat to a messy bedroom.

 

-

 

Dean pulled the door of the girl's apartment shut behind him, feeling used and broken and leaned against the wall opposite. With his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling he sucked in breath after breath of the almost fresh air of the corridor.

 

Dean bit his lips trying to hold back a sob. There was a reason why he had stopped sleeping around so much, once he and Sammy had settled down and left their vagrant lifestyle. He had only had a handful of one night stands since his brother turned eighteen and it had been safe to have a home, have some permanence. The disgust he felt at the event, the sordid worthlessness that allowing a stranger to be that close to him, to use him, left his skin crawling. He sought a warm body, kind words and single minded perusal of pleasure, and without fail he was left feeling hollow and wrong.

 

He lifted a hand to clutch at his chest, trying to keep the agony within. He stumbled, trying to move away from the wall blindly to go home, but he couldn’t. Tears blurred his vision and he thumped back, sinking to the floor, bitten off silent sobs wracking his body. He had wanted oblivion, a rest from his incessant thoughts, a piece of respite, but now, his mind was filled with the knowledge of wondering hands that only felt wrong, yet another person who knew the scars on his back, but couldn't have given two craps about the scars on his mind.

 

Dean allowed himself to fall fully in to his misery, his mind dwelling on the emptiness he felt, Sam didn't need him, his friends, such a recent acquisition, didn't need him, even the woman on the other side of the wall in the apartment he has just left had only needed him for one night. Had only wanted her need fulfilled, she had no need for him past scratching the itch she had.

 

He moved beyond tears and began staring blankly at the wall. He finally found the oblivion he had looking for all evening in the misery, the exhaustion and the alcohol.

 

-

 

An unknown amount of time later a thump, a giggle and a low grumble of a voice broke through his catatonia. He was too done to bother moving, the couple could just walk on by.

 

A scathing voice penetrated his reverie, making him look up from his position on the floor, tear tracks dried on his cheeks, in to the face of an angry looking blonde. “Is that a fucking junkie? They just allow any old refuse up here now don’t they?” The blonde stated in an acerbic voice.

 

Dean looked up at her and the dark haired man standing behind her, eyes cast to the ground. “All right, all right, I'm goin'.” He grumbled, only slightly slurred in his misery induced sobriety. He looked behind him briefly to see the eyes of the man stuck fast on his retreating back as the women started telling him he would have to clean the door in the morning.

 

By the morning, Dean was convinced that it had _not_ been worry and concern he had seen in the man's eyes.

 

-

 

Cas had been awaiting his moment to give his new note to Dean, but the incident in the hall way outside of his and Meg's apartment sealed it for him. He had been terrified to get the note, but seeing the man, broken and crying in the hall way, for who knows what reason, cemented the fact that he had to help the man. He weathered Meg's two hour long tirade about drunks in their apartment building when she her self was smashed. He wasn't allowed to drink, so he had just sat and dozed mentally while trying to seem awake and attentive. Meg had banished him to the sofa once more, so he had got out his note and gone over it once more before putting it back in to his school bag, resolve made.

 

Cas dawdled in the quad which backed on to the entrance to the more academic buildings of his college. He was waiting for two things. Firstly, a phone call from his cousin, Gabriel, as he had promised to do. His phone call the previous week had only been ten minutes long before Castiel had had to run to class, but the conversation and the friendly voice had filled a portion of the void that his cancelled visit had caused. Secondly he was waiting for Dean to make his way in to the lecture hall for Chuck's class. He wanted to be purposefully late so that he could try to sit near Dean.

 

He sat on a bench and held his phone in his hand. He would have to remember to clear the call log once he had spoken to Gabe. Meg had a habit of looking through his phone if he left it anywhere not on his person. He jumped when the call came through, despite expecting it. “Hello Gabriel.” He answered.

 

“Heya Cuz, how's it hangin'” He asked cheerfully. Castiel paused, staring directly in front of him trying to fathom what Gabe could possibly be asking about. “Oh God, never mind. How are you?” Gabe's voice cut through his confused thoughts. “I am fine thank you.” He answered gruffly. What was the point in saying anything different?

 

“I call bullshit. Has she tried to stab you in the face yet? Or cut your dick off? Has she caught you coughing out of place, or maybe just breathing wrong?” “Gabe-” Castiel cut across Gabriel's rant, it didn't matter, he couldn't function without her, so apart from, possibly, having his dick cut off, he could cope, and would continue to do so. “Have you managed to hire anyone new yet?”

 

Gabriel sighed, defeated. “Yeah, some sweet guy called Kevin. He's a genius with a coffee machine. I asked him to put a dick in the cappuccino art and he didn't even flinch and managed a surprisingly anatomically correct one.” Castiel almost smiled at that. “I'm glad. You need a day off Gabe.” Another sigh blew static through the line. “Yeah, man. _I'm_ the one that needs the respite. Are you sure you don't wanna-”

 

“Gabe! It's not a case of what I want! You know that.” He exploded, still keeping his voice low. He couldn't cope with any attention if people milling in the quad were to look at him, especially that of his tutors or fellow students. “Gabe. I have to go.” He stated, finality in his tone.

 

“Okay, okay. I'm going to call again next week okay?” Castiel couldn't work out if that made him happy or not.

 

“Okay. Goodbye Gabe.”

 

They hung up and Castiel fiddled with his phone, deleting the call history. Just as he finished with the phone, he saw a harried and ill looking Dean Winchester run in to the building housing their lecture hall.

 

Castiel got up and strode quickly across the quad, wanting to follow Dean in quickly so as not to draw more attention to himself than he needed to.

 

He heard the lecture room door slam ahead of him and marched forward all the more quickly. Quietly, he pushed open the door, hearing Chuck berating Dean good naturedly for being late once more. He closed the door, not allowing it to slam and crept up the same stairs of the theatre, all eyes still on Dean throwing his bag angrily on to the seat next to him, or on Chuck who's eyes briefly flicked to Castiel before restarting his lecture for their benefit.

 

As he had hoped, Dean sat in the closest seat to the door rather then move along the isles to sit with his friend. Cas had noticed that Dean tended to be late more often on their second lecture of the week. Going by the oil smudge on the man's cheek he assumed he was doing something practical across the campus and couldn't get cleaned up in time.

 

Castiel walked quickly and quietly past Dean who was still preoccupied pulling his note books form his bag, and sat in the seat behind Deans'. He busied himself grabbing pens and his neatly organised notebook, preparing for the lecture himself. He also gripped the tightly folded note, Dean's name written once more on the front, just like the initial note from the first week back and their impromptu team building session.

 

It wasn't until twenty minutes in to Chuck's lecture on the importance of classical literature and art on modern advertising that Castiel got his opportunity to anonymously give Dean the note. Dean's jacket and open bag were piled on the seat next to him, easily within the man's sight line, at least, they were until a sneezing fit took Dean, throwing him forward in his chair, sneezing loudly in to his hands, his eyes screwed shut. After the initial heads turned to take in the noise, Castiel leant forward and dropped the note in to Dean's bag, nervous terror running like ice down his spine.

 

The rest of the lecture passed, Castiel trying not to throw up in fear of discovery, yet pass it did. When Chuck finally allowed them to leave, Cas threw his belongings back in to his bag and, head down, fled the theatre, ensuring that when he passed Dean, the other man was turned away, picking up his own bag without a second glance at the interior.

 

Castiel spent the subsequent lectures the next week hiding in the city library, rather than the campus one.

 

After slipping his note to Dean he had been too terrified to return to class, too afraid of discovery.

 

-

 

Castiel was late returning home. He knew he would be in trouble, but he had lost track of time in the library, avoiding Dean. He had even missed the rest of his lectures that day. He would have to see Chuck when Monday came around and see about catching up, but for now he was simply glad that he had avoided Dean once again. He had not seen the man since the lecture the previous week when he had slipped him the note. Nonetheless, the lack of fear pulsing in his chest at having avoided Dean was quickly replaced by the knowledge of what awaited him behind the door to his apartment.

 

Castiel pushed open the door quietly, knowing that Meg would be waiting, yet hoping not to trigger her with banging and crashing and the scratch of the key in the lock, nor the squeak of the hinges.

 

It didn't work.

 

The first thing he saw was Meg's glowering gaze underneath her blonde cropped hair.

 

“Well!” She began, widening her eyes in sarcastic filled fury. “I'm glad to see you remember where you live.” She continued, voice silky smooth with barely contained anger.

 

Castiel placed his bag quietly by the front door and simply stood in silence, knowing words wouldn't do any good. He was perhaps twenty minutes later than he ought to have been, Meg often wouldn't even be home by this time.

 

His petite girlfriend pushed away from the wall she had been leaning against, arms folded across her chest and stalked silently toward Castiel, circling him, forcing him deeper in to the room. Castiel didn't even bother swallowing nervously. Why be nervous when you know how much trouble you're in? “I received a call today Clarence. From your tutor.” Castiel baulked, shock filling him. Why was one of his tutors calling _Meg_?

 

“Oh don't look so surprised,” she purred. “I called the college shortly after you enrolled and changed their contact number from yours to mine, I was just looking out for you Clarence.” Castiel's back stiffened. This was news to him. Over two years and he wondered why he had never heard from the college, even when contact was expected. He was just grateful that, until now, seemingly, he had not done anything to cause Meg anger over his education.

 

“It seems a Mr. Shirley has been concerned that you haven't attended either of your lectures this week.” She continued, voice still dangerously soft, a lilting smile on her lips. Castiel shivered. This was Meg at her most dangerous. “Now that's funny, I thought to my self. You've been going to college, yet leaving shortly before his lectures. The GPS on your phone proves that. Now why wouldn't you attend his classes this week huh?” She stopped prowling around him and stood before him, hands on hips and expression demanding. All sugar sweet and hiding the broken glass and cyanide beneath. Castiel swallowed.

 

The GPS tracking was new to him too.

 

“I- I- I-I-” He tried, but he couldn't come up with anything. He could not tell her about Dean.

 

She blinked as if affronted. “Are you trying to tell me that you're so fucking pathetic that you can't even attend your meagre classes? Or what? You needed to walk an extra few miles a day and use the city library? Because their books a _so much better_? You're learning how to add up, Castiel! Like a big boy. And you can't even manage that?” Her voice swung from high pitched and child-like to low and slow, and full of menace. Castiel took a step back, giving up entirely on trying to speak.

 

From his resignation was starting to grow fear. For the first time in years he genuinely began to worry about his safety. The last time he had seen Meg like this was after one of her friends had spoken to him without her right alongside. She had screamed at him the moment they were in private, telling him he could not flirt with another soul, she was all that he needed. He had ended up in hospital with a cracked rib and sprained wrist.

 

But this time, she was beyond angry, she was livid. She hadn't broken out the yelling, which told Castiel that this was worse, so much worse than the previous times.

 

“I gave up everything for you.” Meg started, and Castiel wondered if that was true. She darted forward and kneed him in the crotch, hard, her nails digging in to his shoulders even through the trench coat she deemed it acceptable that he wear. Castiel doubled over, clutching his arms around his middle, but he refused to make a sound. That could only spur her on.

 

“I have spent years ensuring you were a functioning human being.” She stood tall over him, looking down her nose at his pained form. “And you repay me with this?” Castiel straightened up, wincing at the pain suffusing his body, and received a backhanded slap across his cheek for his trouble. The hit was hard, her rings splitting open his cheek, and he stumbled back a little from the double onslaught to his groin and face. “You are useless without me, Castiel. I have allowed you to go to college, to waste your time learning when you should be earning money, and then you don't even bother to attend?!”

 

Her finger nails dug in around his windpipe where she pushed him up against the front door, her thumb pressing against the corded muscle bunched in his neck. He felt it as each nail broke skin, one finger at a time. He wasn't even aware of the fact that he had stopped breathing. That he wouldn't have been able to if he tried.

 

“With out you I could have been great you know? Without your sorry ass dragging me down, making me pick up your life after you. You sicken me.” Meg's nails dug deeper and Castiel felt the trickle of blood as it started to fall down his oxygen starved skin.

 

Meg let go and Castiel dropped to the floor, heaved in a huge breath, pain radiating out from his neck, bruised and bloodied.

 

“It's too late for you, dear.” She trilled as she stamped on the hand Castiel had flat on the floor, supporting himself. He gasped with the new pain, the refrain singing in his head. _Too late._ He clutched his hand to his chest, breaths still laboured, throat aching with each inhale, each exhale.

 

“It's too late for you to salvage your life. It's pathetic. I am everything to you, aren't I?” She smiled and straddled Castiel's prone form, forcing him on to his back proper, his head painfully pushed up against the door frame. She leant down low over him, hand fumbling near his head on the carpeted floor. “Your life is over Castiel, it's been over since the moment you were born. A pointless, worthless lump. No good to anyone, yet I took you in. I made you what you are. But you are a disappointment. Always. No good. I never saw anything so pitiful, yet I still look after you. I still make you whole.” She laughed a little, mouth brushing Castiel's ear lobe while something cold pressed in to the damaged flesh of his neck, over the vibrating pulse point.

 

The jagged metal pushed in harder against the blood smeared skin as she continued her oil slick smooth monologue. “But it's not too late for me. You will be the shadow at my back for ever Castiel. You are worthless, but I will allow your pointless excuse for existence to continue, seeing as you're basically already dead.” She laughed a little more loudly, leaning back, her knees pressing Castiel's elbow to the floor, the object in her hand digging in to his throat, threatening to spill more blood.

 

He couldn't breath e again. He was nothing, he knew that. Th a t's why he had stayed with Meg. She was the only person that had ever tried to help him, to make him more, to carry him over the difficulties of being shy, silent. But, Castiel had always held out hope that he was getting better. She was helping, after all. She was supporting him, making him talk to people when he couldn't alone, making him leave his home, pushing him. 

 

But she thought him dead already.

 

There was no hope.

 

Why continue to punish himself in a relationship, he believed was aiding him, when Meg had just refuted the point.

 

He was already dead, so why not fade in to silent, lonely obscurity without needing to hide the bruises about his eyes, or the lacerations across his ribs, week after week after week.

 

She  _couldn't_ help. There was nothing left to help. 

 

It was too late.

 

So why remain?

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

The thought revolved tantalisingly around his head as the metal in Meg's hand continued to dig in to his throat.

 

He felt like he was floating.

 

He sat up, easily dislodging Meg still sitting atop him.

 

He looked down at her hand, and took the blood smeared house key from her red smeared fist, not even registering her struggle, her screeching.

 

He gently pushed her off him, on to the floor and pushed himself to his feet, wobbling, vision hazy and dark around the edges.

 

He bent to pick up his school bag, opened the front door, closed it behind himself and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're lucky little kitties you'll get another update before November begins, but then it'll be silence, I reckon, while I write for Nanowrimo for the first time! This is so close to my 1 year anniversary of writing, so thank you to everyone for every single kudos and comment that you've sent my way!
> 
> Hope you like this chapter!

_ Dean, I am sorry about the last note I wrote to you. Although everything I wrote stands, I believe I sounded a little more intense than I had intended. _

 

_ All I wanted to do was to assure you that, although I know little about your actual life and your struggles, that there is someone who knows how you feel, in a way. _

 

_ Dean, I just want to let you know that I wish to help you where I cannot help myself. I wish to extend my friendship, albeit in anonymous two-time-only note form. I'd like you to know you are not alone, how ever it may feel. Someone does care for you. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ In friendship _

 

 

Dean dropped the scratty piece of paper, watched it float down, as if in slow motion, to the broken zipper of his bag, where it teetered on the edge, before slipping back inside, as if it belonged there. 

 

Someone, the same person as before, had written him another note.

 

That someone had been worried they'd sounded like some kind of stalker or something, yet they still wanted Dean to know that he had someone. Someone was there for him. Someone entirely anonymous. Completely unknown despite Dean's knowledge that it was Thursday evening, and he had had a lecture with Chuck that afternoon. Just like before. The person _must_ be in Chuck's class. But Dean had not seen anyone even sit near him, let alone pass close enough to put a note in his bag. 

 

He was adamant it hadn't been in there before the lecture, he was certain.

 

-

 

By Monday, and this first general studies lecture of the week, Dean was a nervous wreck. He had spent the weekend analysing the two notes, side by side on his bed, lying on his belly, using the knowledge from the hand writing class Chuck had held to ascertain that there were indeed by the same author. 

 

By the time class rolled around he was almost certain that someone would jump out at him yelling “Gotcha!” laughing in his face. He had swung between deciding that the notes must be a joke and someone was out to get him, which was fair and that that was what he deserved, and thinking that truly there was some one, one person who actually gave a tiny shit about him. 

 

Then he would curse and check his phone, reading yet again the text message that Charlie had sent him on Friday night of a picture of two cats hugging. One was bright ginger and the other was a dark beige with spots and stripes all over it. 

 

He smiled every time he saw it, not because it was clearly meant to be him and Charlie in cat form, but because she had bothered to think of him and send it at all.

 

But then his thoughts would return to the note, and the disbelief that anyone could think him worth the time. Even the small amount of time it would have taken to scrawl the words.

 

By Thursday's lecture, he was a mess of confused, hypocritical thoughts, swirling and wriggling around his head.

 

He didn't take in a single word of Chuck's lecture, and by the end of the session, Benny was forcibly pushing him back in his seat to stop him from squirming around, trying to work out which God damned person in the hall would think he was worth the ink on the paper.

 

“Breathe brother!” Benny's worried voice finally cut through his thoughts. 

 

He blinked stupidly at his friend, the dark voice in the back of his head still telling him that he had no friends and never would. He finally took a breath, realising that he'd been staring around the hall from head to head, chewing his lip and holding his breath, just daring each face to turn to him, to look and smile, or scowl, he didn't even care at this point, he just wanted to yell in their face and demand to know what they saw in him.

 

“Right, fuck it. You're comin' to mine. Now. Fuck off the rest of classes, you've only got technical drawing right? You're aceing that, so let's take the afternoon off. You need to chill, 'n I got beer, pizza and too many movies I ain't watched in an age.” Dean suddenly found that they were walking through the quad, the autumn sun making him blink the sweat from his eyes. 

 

“Jesus, what's got in to ya huh?” Benny asked softly, his bear like arm slung around his shoulders, grounding him a little.

 

-

 

Dean sat rigidly on Benny's sofa. His apartment was far larger than Dean's own, but the man had probably had a stable up bringing, had probably had parents who loved him and helped him. He probably got good grades and worked his way up the ladder of his job before taking the chance to go to catering college. Dean had watched his dad kill himself slowly, day by day whilst driving them from city to town to city. Dean barely attended school, they had no bank accounts. When their father died Dean continued with that way of life until Sammy hit eighteen and they couldn't take him from him, and yet the boy had gone, the minute he could, but for the right reasons, they had even planned it that way. But, Dean had had to build a life from nothing, desperate for something steady and stable, all alone. He lived in a small and immaculate one bed flat, and kept his car as well as he could. He lived off crappy fast food and drank cheap whiskey and beer. He worked damn hard at school. He only drank when the silence because too much. He only went out looking for a one night stand when even the drinking didn't help. He kept his head down and spent hours in the school library looking up firms from high-end, big city engineering companies, all the way down to local garages. 

 

He knew intimately how much he was worth. In between legitimate jobs, waiting tables or pouring beer, stacking shelves and sweeping floors, Dean had had to ensure Sammy was fed. Hustling pool, thieving, cheating and lying, he had only just stopped short of selling himself. Taking the john's money, then running before the bile could rise at the thought of what he was almost prepared to do. Then, when he had failed, and he had been beaten by John, it didn't seem to matter what the perceived failure was for. Whether it was because there wasn't food on the table, or because he had left Sam alone for the evening.

 

And yet, he knew he could be worth more. But with Sammy away, and wrapped up in his hard won life, he didn't know if he was on the right track. He had no friends, he was just a pretty face, with charming smile. He was stupid and worthless. But the notes implied that someone thought something else. They implied someone he didn't even know thought he was worthy of, at the very least, the effort of moving a pen over the surface of some cheap note paper. Twice.

 

“Dean!” Benny yelled in his face, jerking him from his thoughts violently. “Here's your fuckin' pizza dumb ass.” The man said gently, pushing a huge plate covered in home-made pizza, rich and steaming, in to his hands. The looked at it and thought briefly of the text message that Charlie had sent him; two cats hugging. 

 

Maybe he wasn’t entirely friendless. 

 

“Come on man, talk to me.” Benny wheedled next to him, Dean got the impression he had missed a lot of what his friend had been saying to him over the course of the day. His mind was dwelling too thoroughly on those notes, his lack of worth, his stupidity, his- 

 

He took a breath, inhaling the amazing aroma of the pizza in his hand. He decided to ask for help.

 

First time for everything he supposed. 

 

He rummaged in his bag and found the two bits of well creased paper, folded together and dirty with the constant perusal. He handed them silently to Benny.

 

Benny took a moment to read them, a small frown puckering his forehead. “Huh. They're weird.” He shrugged. “Eat up!” He grinned at Dean, then frowned, seeing that the notes were clearly more important to Dean than he could ever have imaged. “Know who wrote 'em?” He queried, looking again at the neat, looped but not florid writing. Dean just shook his head. 

 

He finally took a bite of the pizza and groaned, wondering when he had last eaten, let alone eaten something fresh, something so good, home-made, healthy- just generally awesome.

 

“Oh God. Benny. I'm sorry. You're a fuckin' legend.” He finally got out, worry, fear and insecurities forgotten in the enjoyment of good food.

 

Benny laughed and slapped his back lightly, “I'm glad ya like it.” 

 

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur for Dean. They put the newest Star Trek film on to watch, but talked over it, with unanswerable questions about the notes. (“Think it's a guy or a girl?” “When did it appear?” “Notice anyone sitting near by?” “Anyone acting different?” “They're kinda creepy, but you know they're right, right?”) Dean was warm, and full, and finally calm, enjoying Benny coming up with more more crazy ideas about who the notes could be from.

 

When he finally got back to his own tiny haven, he collapsed in bed feeling at peace for the first time… maybe ever. 

 

-

 

Monday morning found Dean sitting in the quad, early for his lecture with Chuck for once. The air was crisp and biting at his exposed neck. He would have to dig through his hall cupboard and find his winter things soon, he thought. He shot off a text to Charlie while he waited for the digital display on his watch to roll around to the hour. She had finally revealed the meaning behind her handmaiden comment on her note she had given him, the night before, and had, since then, been sending him text after text about her larping group. She was convinced he would look fetching in chain mail. Her words. 

 

He laughed a little before sliding off the bench and following some students he vaguely recognised in to the lecture theatre. 

 

Since his evening at Benny's, he had been far more calm and collected. He had spent Saturday in a local coffee shop with Charlie and Benny, and found that they got on well enough. He and Benny had ganged up on Charlie once she had let slip that she wasn't attracted to guys, both pouting and pretending to woo her with their manly whiles, until they spied the girls working behind the counter, at which point they had starting pretending to match make for her instead. She had ended up pelting them with bits of her flapjack, and then demanded that they buy her a new one to replace it. Dean had given her the money and told her to buy one her self, but only if she got served by the tall brunette. She had winked and done exactly that. 

 

He slipped in to the mostly empty theatre, watching the students he had followed in settling in to the seats near the front. Only one other person was sat in the hall. Dean had passed, what he assumed to be a him, without noticing on his way up to the middle seats. All he could see of him was a dark mop of hair and a huge scarf wrapped around his neck. His face was down turned, leaning on his elbow on the arm rest, a heavy looking book bag clutched to their lap and a sheaf of papers balanced precariously on top.

 

Shortly, Charlie and Benny joined him, Chuck shambled in, and they began to learn about Mindfulness, as that morning's subject. Dean was absorbed within minutes.

 

-

 

“Okay class. That's it!” Chuck yelled at the end of his lecture. “Get out of here. We're studying some basic French and German next week to give you the prep for next Thursday's lecture! Feel free to pre-game on this all right?! It. Will. Help!” He shouted above the noise of groans as the students filed from the lecture theatre. “Wait. Winchester? I need you to come chat with me a minute before you go!” He continued in his raised voice, not allowing Dean to escape the attention. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath and, leaving his stuff on the chair he had been in, jogged down to speak with the lecturer. 

 

“Don't worry, Mr. Winchester.” Chuck began, clapping him on the shoulder. “I just wanted to ask you if you could give me access to all of your research for the last essay you wrote? It's great work, and I want to submit it as an example for the first year students on essay writing in general. The forms and structure are great, the argument well thought out, the language bang on...” The professor looked up at Dean, and he realised that his jaw was hanging open in surprise. He closed it with a snap. “Uh- Er, yeah, of course.” 

 

“Excellent.” Chuck smiled at him, his blood shot eyes bleary as usual. “Thursday?” Dean just nodded before dazedly wandering backup to his seat to collect his bag. “Er, Winchester? You, er, dropped something there.” Chuck yelled from behind him. Dean frowned, looking down and saw a tightly folded piece of paper. 

 

He didn't recognise it, but unfolded it to double check it wasn't something important. 

 

Printed on the cheap paper the library stocked their computer suite with was a long list of names, addresses, phone numbers and amounts in dollars. Nearly three quarters of them were crossed through, the lines getting progressively messier and more deeply scored with multiple lines, as they went down the list.

 

“Oh!” A deep voice interrupted his musings and he snapped his gaze up to look at the man who had almost run in to him, he was standing so close. “That's mine.” He said horsely, abruptly, the heavy scarf Dean had seen earlier, wrapped tightly around his neck. He wore a dirty tan trench coat, pulled tight about his frame and he had heavy, dark rings under his darting, terrified looking eyes.

 

A shot of recognition plummeted down through Dean's body, filling his mouth with cotton wool, his throat with acid, his belly with lead. 

 

This was the man who had discovered him crying outside of his apartment, in a drunken, used, misery laden haze. 

 

This was the man with his rude, corrosive girlfriend who had eyed him with concern as he had stumbled away, filled with self pity and hatred.

 

Dean froze, staring in to the other man's eyes, taking in the raised and bruised welt across his cheek bone, and despite his own self disgust fuelling his shame and embarrassment, he could tell the other man was just as uncomfortable. There was sweat beading his brow, fine tremors in the hand he held out for the list and he was convulsively swallowing, his red tinged eyes still flicking repeatedly from Dean's, around his face and back to making eye contact again.

 

“Yeah.” Dean grunted out, handing the paper over. The man's shaking hands gripped the edge of the proffered paper, but Dean didn't let go, seeing the tiniest spark of something in this man, something he himself had only recently been made aware of in himself.

 

“You moving house?” He questioned, almost out of no where, the phantom sensations of Charlie's silly texts and Benny's amazing cooking flitting through his brain. 

 

The man looked down at the piece of paper, surprise filtering across his expression, before his face closed off once again, only the shifting eyes and nervous swallowing showing his discomfort. He coughed, dry and wheezing before the drew breath to answer. “Um. Yes?” He answered, making it a question, as if asking permission to give his answer. Before Dean could make more pointless small talk though, he continued in the raspy, deep voice, as if he was coming to the tale-end of an awful cold. “My girlfriend and I broke up.” He looked almost defensive, eyes challenging. 

 

“Sucks man.” Dean got out, eyes dropping to the floor, memory filled with always being between homes. “You-” He stopped, refusing to ask the question that was on the forefront of his mind. He changed his question before he asked too much, got too personal. “Erm, wanna get a coffee? Your, er, throat sounds like you could do with a hot drink there.” 

 

He smiled ever so slightly, in an attempt to reassure the man before him, as Benny and Charlie had both done to him numerous times in the past two weeks. Letting him know it was okay to say yes, or no. Dean wanted to offer the same comfort, same acceptance.

 

The man didn't answer immediately, but shivered and wrapped both this coat and his arms tightly around his chest, the printed list clutched tightly in his hand. 

 

Dean watched as the man swallowed again, his throat obscured by the scarf, but his jaw clenching repeatedly, the sound audible. He noticed as his eye ticked, clearly exhausted, and Dean suddenly saw the general state of the man. His clothes were damp and dirty, his hair greasy, both as if he had been caught in the recent rain, but hadn't had a chance to wash or change. His skin looked pallid under the subtle sheen of sweat. He wasn't dirty, nor did he smell, but Dean was experienced enough to know what someone looked like after sleeping rough for a few days.

 

His swallowed question of earlier did not need to be asked. He didn't feel pity, nor even much sympathy, but he did feel empathy. He had spent nights on the street, when his father had got too rough, or simply hadn't come home and they had run out of money. It took a week, if you were careful, before it started to show, using public bathrooms to wash, and public spaces to warm up and dry off in.

 

Suddenly Dean found that he had someone he could help again. Someone needed him, whether they knew or cared.

 

He quickly decided that he could afford to buy, not only a couple of coffees, but also some of the toasties that the coffee shop, just off campus, sold. Through his lingering embarrassment and his level of distress and lack of sobriety on the night he had met her, he could not recall much about this man's girlfriend, but he did remember a grating voice, and a constant stream of abuse trailing him down the hallway as he and trudged away that night. He didn't know what had happened to end their relationship, but he guessed it hadn't been pretty. The raw and weeping wound on the man's cheek suggested in what form that had taken. Most people wouldn't take homelessness over another few days of awkward discomfort. Yet this man had. The man's pale and waxy skin hinted at, not only cold and tiredness, but hunger, another experience of his he had no wish to inflict on another.

 

“Come on man, it's lunch time, let's grab something hot to drink and eat. My treat.” He smiled again, hoping to convince the man to allow him to help.

 

The other man blinked his wide, blood shot, blue eyes at him three times before he slowly nodded his head once and stood aside to let Dean lead the way.

 

-

 

“How do you take it?” Dean questioned him, making Castiel jump a little. They were standing in queue at the coffee shop that Meg had told him never to go in to without her. He was terrified that she would jump out and scream the place down and drag him home again. He had always looked in the large windows and thought that it looked like a nice place to sit and study, but she had told him that it would ruin his concentration. If wanted to study he could use the library. If he really couldn't live without caffeine, he could come home and use the expensive coffee machine she had bought for him there. 

 

In reality he knew that she had bought the coffee machine for her self, but he had obeyed nonetheless.

 

“Um, hey, er- guy? The coffee?” Dean asked again, and Castiel realised they were at the front of the line. Four days without food really were beginning to affect his concentration.

 

“Um. Just black, please.” Dean grinned at him, and Castiel couldn't tell, for once, if it was a genuine grin or a front. 

 

“Cool” He muttered before turning to the girl at the counter. “Two black filter coffees and two of the Chicken, Chorizo toasties please. Oh, wait.” He turned to Castiel again. “You're not a veggie are you?” 

 

Castiel recoiled slightly at being confronted with Dean's questions again, but shook his head. “No, but you don't have to-”

 

“Yeah, yeah” Dean smiled to take the edge from his words and waved his hand dismissively. “Grab a table-” He frowned, “if you can-” before he turned back to the barista and completed his order. 

 

Castiel, suddenly being asked to make a decision for, not only himself, but Dean too, out in public, felt anxiety grip him. Since he was a child, being out in large groups of people had scared him a little, it had only become worse as he got older, but Meg had always been there to help, to steer him, to advise. 

 

But now he was completely on his own, a room full of people smiling, laughing, chatting, surrounding him. He froze, eyes darting all over the room, unsure of which direction to go in, or if he should just leave entirely. 

 

He shouldn't be near Dean. He had already over stepped his mark a thousand fold, by giving him those stupid notes, and now the man, kind as he was, despite his own troubles, was helping him.

 

Castiel realised he was staring at an emptying table, three young guys all with huge beards just picking up their bags and coats, as a palm slapped on his shoulder. “Hey, oh, you found one. Well done!” Dean voice sounded to his right. Castiel turned and smiled weakly at Dean, who had a cracked tea pot clutched in his hand with the number '17' written on it in gold sharpie. The other man slipped past him and sat in one of the seats before the bearded men had even finished leaving. 

 

Castiel shuffled forward and dropped heavily in to the seat opposite, vision spinning, but whether that was from hunger, exhaustion, mental and physical, or the sudden rise and fall of anxiety, he couldn't tell.

 

“It'll be a few minutes, it's really good in here, but it gets a bit busy at lunch.” Dean smiled, placing the table number in the centre of the small table and piling the previous people's mugs and plates neatly to the side. “So. You never told me your name.” He looked up and met Castiel's eye, for some reason looking a little nervous. 

 

Castiel couldn't un-stick his mouth though, and continued to stare in to Dean's gaze, noticing irrelevant details instead of speaking like anyone else would. Dean's eyes were green, gold where the Autumn sun hit them through the window and the steamy air within the coffee shop. He had freckles and a tiny smear of black dirt by his ear, as if he had wiped his face clean, but missed a spot. His hair was light brown, but gold, like his eyes in the sun. He wore a khaki coloured jacket over a red and grey plaid shirt, which was open and showed a faded black t-shirt-

 

Castiel blinked in surprise as two large mugs of steaming coffee were placed on their table and the empties removed. He looked back to Dean who looked similarly surprised by the interruption. “Um. Castiel.” He finally answered, clearing his aching throat a few times first and dropping his eyes to the coffee. He was beginning to sweat in the warm atmosphere inside, but his still heavily bruised throat, inflamed wounds scabbed over but raw, would be too obvious if he removed the scarf he had bought from a good will shop the day after he had left his apartment. He had tried to use his card, but it had been declined, as had every other one he had tried. He had a small bunch of notes in his wallet, which he had used slowly, buying bottled water only, since discovering his lack of funds.

 

He didn't have money in the apartment, Meg had essentially controlled his finances, and he had no wish to return so soon, in any case. He assumed she had somehow cancelled all of his cards. He presumed she had also emptied his bank account by this stage, but he had not checked.

 

He clutched the folded list, still in his fist. A list of rooms available, but it was foolish, without money he could not afford a deposit. Without money he would be off his course once the semester was up though, so he wasn't sure it mattered.

 

“Castiel.” Dean said slowly, breaking through his thoughts once more. “Weird. I like it.” He grinned, a one hundred watt smile. Castiel frowned. “So...” Dean begun again, and paused taking a sip of his coffee, a soft, blissful expression removing the faux happy one that had been there a moment previously. “Yeah, so, sorry for the thing the other night.” Castiel watched as Dean bit his lip and looked off to the side, clearly uncomfortable.

 

“You don't need to apologise to me Dean. I hope you are okay now though?” He asked. Seeing Dean crying, clearly distraught had given Castiel many hours of thought. It had been the trigger to finally give him the second note, and he had wondered afterwards what had happened, and if the man was okay, if he was hurt.

 

“I'm never not fine!” Dean grinned that fake smile once more, but it faltered at Castiel's hard stare. Just like every time he interested with anyone. 

 

He sipped his own coffee, to break the awkwardness and groaned at the hot, bitter, aromatic warmth spreading down his aching and tired throat, to his belly, where it seemed to warm him from within. He groaned in pleasure.

 

Dean laughed, genuinely. “Wait 'til you get the sammich, man, they're amazing.” Castiel felt the corner of his mouth tic up involuntarily at Dean's enthusiasm. The other man's eyes widened a little, an incredulous expression, this time, covering his face. “Awesome.” He nodded, as if something had been settled. Castiel frowned hard again. Being with this person was far more confusing than anyone else he had spent time with. He changed expressions and emotions quicker than he blinked, it seemed. “I couldn't offer my place to crash to some guy who couldn't smile.” And Dean ducked his head, biting his lips once again, looking away from Castiel, his knuckles white on the mug he gripped. 

 

Suddenly Dean's words crashed about him, drowning him, bewildering in their meaning. “You- wa-”

 

“Here y'are fellas! Two Chicken, chorizo'. Enjoy!” And the waitress ruined Castiel's dive in to oblivion abruptly by placing the two plates on the table cheerfully and sauntering off, waving her butt as she went. 

 

Castiel's attention snapped back to Dean at the same time as Dean's snapped back to his, both of them distracted by the dark haired waitress. Castiel was horrified that he had been obviously caught vapidly checking someone out. He flinched away hard as Dean broke the silence first. Castiel was frozen in shock as, instead of the scolding coffee to his face, like Meg would have done, he was confronted with Dean's laughing, as he dived right in and juggled the first half of his toastie between his fingers, blowing on it trying to take a bite without burning himself.

 

Castiel's mouth ticked up again and the vision before him, the man was ridiculous, under the hurt and pain, there was a clown, a child. There was happiness and innocence. He shook his head and moved the plate to his knee, in order to eat a little less like a hippopotamus than Dean was, and inhaled the savoury, spicy, aroma. His stomach gurgled audibly, and Dean smiled around his mouthful of cheese, meat and bread.

 

“Why would you-” He began to ask, neatly picking up the triangular half of his own sandwich, before Dean cut across him, talking with his mouth full. Castiel wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Come on man, I been there, it sucks. It's just a sofa, take the offer until you get back on your feet, man.” 

 

Castiel didn't answer immediately, but took a bite of the food in his hands. He nearly cried with the sublime feeling of the hot savoury food filling his mouth, washing away the bitterness of the coffee and heating his empty stomach. It was almost painfully good. He moaned around the second mouthful and his eyes closed in joy.

 

“Dude.” Dean chastised, an eyebrow raised. “What?” He glared at the man across from him, red oil smeared on his cheek. “I haven't eaten in four days, and at least I got it _in_ my mouth.” Dean's face screwed up in an odd combination of a smirk, embarrassment, amusement and horror. Castiel shrugged and took another bite, chewing slowly and staring at the cheese oozing from the pocket of bread.

 

Castiel considered Dean's offer, not that there was much to consider, he thought wryly. Dean was a perfect stranger, albeit a very kind stranger. He had offered Castiel a place to stay. Under normal circumstances Castiel would, for a variety of reasons, have said no. He would have had to say no. Because there was Meg. But, of course, Meg was the cause of his current situation, and Autumn was progressing, he needed warmth, he needed to wash, he needed an address to tell the bank so that he could regain control of his finances, he needed food and somewhere less terrifying than the foot bridge in the park to sleep under. He needed to wash his clothes and do his course work somewhere clean and dry. He needed to shave and… he had no choice in the matter.

 

“I accept.” He grunted out, wondering if he was simply jumping from the frying pan in to the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, and welcome to your last officially irregularly posted chapter until December. Although, if Nanowrimo doesn't destroy me, and I dunno, I get a minimum, pre-determined, and as yet undecided number of comments and kudos, you might get a sneaky update mid-Nov.
> 
> I mean, no pressure. This isn't bribery. Nope. Not at all.
> 
> I realise I sound drunk at this precise moment, so; on to the story!

Dean sat perched on the wall by the main entrance to the college, rarely used by the students themselves. He had been surprised when Castiel had agreed to let Dean help him. The man had looked so worried, constantly flinching as if expecting a punch to the gut. The look on his face when he had realised he had checked out the waitress was hilarious, but also worrisome. Dean didn't like it, it was the same look he had had after a particularly bad few months on the road with his dad; purple bruises and the constant smell of cheap rum.

 

Dean and Castiel had split up when they had left the café, Dean to the 'shop to work on his project, mostly still drawing at that stage, and Castiel to his short business management course he took along side the accountancy.

 

Their courses were all that they had spoken of while Dean sipped his coffee and Castiel inhaled a second toastie. Dean had paid for them both, hoping he could bring up money with Castiel later on. He had enough to cover them both for a short while, a week or so, but he wouldn't be able to afford food for them both after that.

 

He shifted on his seat on the cold wall and blew a plume of condensing breath in to the cool early evening air. A noise sounded off to his left, and Dean smiled broadly when Castiel came shuffling around the corner of the building. He was so pleased that he was finally being useful again, that in helping Castiel he would once more have even the tiniest bit of worth. Sam no longer needed him, his friends- they were good, he conceded, but they didn't _need_ him. Castiel did.

 

“Hello Dean.” He greeted formally, the ugly, badly knitted scarf still wrapped tightly around his neck. “Hey,” he smiled, hopping down off the wall. “It's really not _that_ cold yet y'know.” He voiced aloud, nodding at the scarf. He realised the moment he said it how insensitive he had been. This man had been on the streets for four days. The Autumn sun may still be warm, but the nights were bitter. “Sorry man, that was, er-”

 

“It's okay Dean.” Castiel sounded un-fazed, but Dean noticed a tiny frown marring his forehead, a hardness in his downcast eyes.

 

“Oh. Erm, okay, well, my place is only about a fifteen minute walk from here. You can use the shower and I'll order in. What do you fancy? Pizza? There's a great Thai place...”

 

“What ever you would like Dean.” Castiel's tone was forced, his face a bland mask.

 

“Hey, hey. No. What's up? If you don't want any of that, man, you gotta tell me. I'm not gonna force you to eat the crap I have if it's not what you want. I' used to buy salads for Sammy all the time when he asked for 'em!”

 

Castiel's face crumpled as if he was in pain. “It's just- I wanted something kind of like those toasties. Wholesome. They were really good, and, um- Salad would be okay. I, er, guess. Hot food, though?” Dean watched as the man cringed his way through the sentence, clearly uncomfortable with voicing his preference.

 

“Oh, like home cooked stuff? I never really learnt-” He felt bad now. The guy obviously wasn't used to asking for what he wanted, and now Dean couldn't give even something as simple as food to him. He was fucking useless.

 

Castiel stopped and stared at Dean. No, he was staring  _past_ Dean. “Would you mind?”  He asked, then rushed on, “ I can sort out money soon. I just need to charge my phone and talk to my ba nk and the school.” Dean turned around at what Castiel was looking at, feeling gratified that  Castiel had been the one to bring up money. Behind him stood a Gas 'N Sip, he passed it daily and  occasionally grabbed coffee  or milk from there. “ You want me to cook.” He stated flatly.

 

“No. I'll cook.” Castiel replied, a look of grim determination on his face. Dean's lip twisted in to a smile at the guy's quirkiness. Gas 'N Sip's were hardly a war zone, yet the look on Castiel's face made it look as if he was gearing him self up for just that. 

 

I nside, Dean handed Castiel a basket and told him to go crazy. He browsed some magazines and picked up some more coffee  and a few other bits as they were there, then joined Castiel at the checkout where the guy at the counter was already putting the scanned items in to a bag. Dean frowned at the items wondering what Castiel was planning, but  shrugged. It would be a  surprise he supposed. 

 

Dean scowled a little as he pushed open the door to his tiny apartment. It wasn't much, but, at twenty-six, he was happy to live on coffee and pizza and pay for somewhere he could call his own. He was damned if he would live in a shared house after a lifetime hopping from one revolting motel to another, never having a space to call his own.

 

Inside, there was a small bedroom, just room enough for a double bed to be pushed up against the wall, immaculately made, and a wardrobe jammed in at the end, doors closed over everything neatly stacked within. The bathroom could only fit a shower cubicle but Dean could cope without the luxury of a bath. The tiles sparkled. The kitchen was a corner of the lounge, a breakfast bar dividing the two. The ceramic hob gleamed. The lounge space was comfortable, a two seater sofa too close to the television, and one side given over to a drawing board, angle poise lamp pointing at the beautifully drawn schematics clipped neatly to the side. Next to that sat a bookcase, organised between fiction and textbooks, alphabetised and dust free.

 

Dean caught Castiel staring, mouth open a little. “What?” Dean asked a little defensive. “I don't like mess.” He supplied, forgetting that most people had never _not_ had their own space before and therefore didn't feel the obsessive need to keep it pristine.

 

Castiel smiled a little and carried the bag over to the small counter in the kitchen. “ You wanna shower first or get food sorted? I don't mind either way, man, it's up to you.” He announced, pulling his jacket off and hanging it on the back of the front door. He watched as Castiel's hands  instinctively clutched at the scarf around his neck, face fearful. 

 

Dean's mind suddenly snapped to all the times he had skipped gym at all the various schools he had attended, to avoid his class mates seeing his torso littered in green and purple bruises, the outline of boot tread or belt buckles livid in the florescent lighting of the changing rooms. 

 

He stalked toward Castiel, biting back his thunderous expression. The guy was too fucking scared to remove the scarf because someone had done something to him? That was bullshit. He stopped in front of Castiel, the other man's expression wide eyed, he could hear the hoarse exhalations coming thick and fast. “Dude. You're safe here. I am not going to judge you or, I dunno, make you talk to me. But you cannot wear that scarf twenty-four seven until the- the injury is gone. Not in here. You'll get heat stroke.” He smiled a little at the end to soften his words. The guy was terrified.

 

“Here.” He said, and reached out slowly, to give Castiel time to move or dodge, and gripped the collar of his trench coat, thin and damp. He pulled it down the man's shoulders and off his arms, showing a suit jacket below that he hadn't noticed before. The guy didn't smell as bad as four days on the street would suggest, but he didn't smell exactly fresh. He laid the coat on the breakfast bar and slowly raised his hand to lift the end of the scarf, eyes trying to meet Castiel's, to ask permission, to see if it was okay. Castiel's eyes remained fixed on the floor, on his damp dress shoes, but he didn't prevent Dean.

 

He slowly unwound the scarf. Three times, lifting the cool, damp wool over Castiel's head before the motion faltered and stopped. A silent, dry sob seemed to emanate from Castiel's chest and his face was pinched in pain, embarrassment, misery.

 

Dean swallowed and continued the motion,  revealing , inch by inch a sickening collection of red, yellow, purple and green bruises surrounding his neck, welts of raised raw red wounds,  inflamed and oozing still.  The end of the scarf fell from Castiel's shoulder and hit the floor. Dean breathed out, controlling himself. No wonder the man sounded horse.  The nasty gash on his cheek, that Dean had written off as simply the result of an accident, now looked much worse when paired with the five crescent shaped cuts around his throat.

 

“Right. Unless you're starving to death right now, you're getting in the shower. Immediately. I'm going to go back to the Gas 'N Sip to grab some antiseptic. I'll leave you something to change in to before I go though okay? When you're done, I'll get that cleaned up.” He nodded at Castiel as if everything was decided. The other man finally raised his gaze to Dean. His expression was one of complete bewilderment, as if Dean's reaction was not what he had been expecting what so ever.

 

-

 

Castiel felt bare and vulnerable with the scarf no longer hiding the throbbing wounds on his neck, but after Dean's initial anger and threatening posture, the man's face had shown only concern. Castiel simply didn't know how to react. As the man had stalked toward him, to make him remove his outer clothing, he had braced himself, and accepted what ever was about to come his way. The last thing he had expected, despite around an hour and a half spent in Dean's company earlier in the day, was kindness.

 

He didn't deserve kindness. Meg had made that abundantly obvious.

 

Castiel blinked and looked up in to Dean's expectant gaze and, realisation dawning, turned and stumbled toward the tiny, but immaculate bathroom. His crushed and bruised hand ached as he knocked it slightly against the door frame making him wince. Even in his shared flat with Meg, where he had been screamed at if anything was out of place, (And then screamed at again, when everything was considered too tidy,) there had been packs of Meg's hair bleach under the sink, fluff in the plug hole and a touch of black mould on the sealant around the tub. Dean's bathroom was- Perfect. 

 

Castiel jumped as he heard the door snick shut behind him, Dean having clearly realised that he wasn't thinking functionally yet. He turned and slid the lock across, sighing in relief that such safety was present. Castiel did not look in the sparkling mirror at his reflection. He did not want to see the broken image of a man that he knew awaited him there.

 

He slipped the jacket from his shoulders and left it in a stinking heap on the floor as the hot water from the shower began to fill the room with steam. Two tentative taps on the door caused Castiel to jump and stiffen, frozen, wondering what he had done wrong. Should he have used only cold water?

 

Before he could lean over and turn the dial to cold, Dean's voice sounded through the door. “Sorry Cas, just thought I'd leave you some clean stuff to put on once you're done. I'll just leave 'em outside the door 'kay? Take as long as you need in there, I'll be back in a bit.” 

 

And with that silence returned. It took until the faint sound of the front door of the apartment closing for Castiel's shoulders to relax. He blinked rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest. Why he had thought that Dean was the one who needed help and care he didn't know. He was clearly able and functioning and simply missed his brother. It was obviously him who was the mess, terrified of doing wrong with the simplest of actions.

 

With shaking fingers he undid the upper most buttons of his soiled shirt, and gave up, pulling the thing over his head. It smelled and was cold and damp, evidence that he had never dried off properly after the evenings of autumn rain. He mourned briefly at the potential prospect of never being able to enjoy autumn again.

 

The shirt joined the jacket on the floor, the stained tie falling with it. He wriggled out of his slacks and underwear, wrinkling his nose in disgust as his socks, too, hit the floor. He toed the ripe pile in to the corner of the room, hoping that Dean wouldn't throw him back to the curb because his revolting clothing had dirtied his bathroom, his entire home.

 

He stepped in to the almost scalding water of the shower and groaned in ecstasy. From the moment the first drop hit the crown of his head, dousing him, bliss suffused his entire body. Even the unceasing stinging pain and unending ache of his throat, shoulder, cheek and hand couldn't take from finally, wonderfully being hot and being allowed to get clean. 

 

He liberally poured Dean's shampoo over his head, for once not even thinking of the repercussions of using his things without asking. He scratched at his skin, shower gel making his hands slippery, to try and remove all traces of dirt. He had never wanted his skin to smart with cleanliness so badly. 

 

He washed his hair three times, scrubbed at every inch of skin, aside his open wounds, twice. He gently dabbed soap over the injuries, wincing as the hot water beat down. When he was done, he stood under the spray, revelling in the heat and the hot pain his skin emanated all over with the scrubbing, smiling unconsciously as the steam and water enveloped him. 

 

Castiel was unsure how long he had spent under the water, but the spray was still hot when he finally stepped out carefully on to the cool tiles. He wrapped himself in a towel draped over the rail and wondered about shaving. He ducked down and found a spare razor under Dean's sink, but hesitated to use it. It wasn't his. He could get in trouble. He could be thrown back out. 

 

He finally looked at his reflection, almost entirely obscured by the steam sticking to the glass, and saw a dark haze surrounding the lower part of his face. Meg never allowed him to grow a beard, and that alone should make him want one, yet, it was something he didn't like. He had long since past given up thinking for himself about his own appearance, he looked the way Meg wanted him to look, dressed in the clothes she deemed appropriate, but not having facial hair wasn't one of the restrictions he had ever chafed against. 

 

He filled the sink with more hot water and got to work.

 

Castiel, face bare and beginning to shiver, cracked open the bathroom door barely an inch. He had not heard Dean re-enter the apartment, but over the sound of the shower he hadn't expected to. He did not want to be caught in a towel, the fading bruises of hand slaps and counter tops hitting hip bones where he had been pushed backward, and pointed toes meeting shin bones, littering his skin. Steam billowed out in to the apartment beyond, and Castiel winced, quickly crouching to retrieve the pile of clothing that Dean had left before shutting himself safely back in. 

 

He closed the door quietly and dropped the towel. In his hands were a soft grey t-shirt, thin and worn, and smelling faintly of cedar wood and something floral. A pair of faded black sleeping pants, a huge pair of lumpy woollen socks in stripes of different blue, that would never fit in a pair of shoes. At the bottom of the pile was a fluffy hoodie, practically fur lined that smelled, unlike the other clothes, which were clearly newly clean, of motor oil and old books and graphite, and what Castiel assumed was simply _Dean._ It looked as if Dean had given him the equivalent of a dressing gown, for warmth in the apartment beyond. 

 

Castiel slipped on the clothing, feeling strange without underwear on beneath his sleeping clothes. Meg never allowed that, unless she wanted sex, she usually expected him to be covered in as many layers as possible. 

 

Out in the lounge-come-kitchen, all was silence. Castiel looked around wondering what was expected of him. That was, until his stomach gave a loud growling gurgle and he angled his feet toward the kitchen, grimacing at his trench coat that was still laid on the breakfast bar. 

 

If Dean was yet to return he should begin dinner. He didn't want to be yelled at for not doing as asked when Dean returned. He forgot, as he began melting butter in a pan, that it was he who had offered to cook.

 

Castiel jumped so badly as he heard the key catching in the lock and the door open, that he nearly dropped the dish full of gooey, cheesy pasta and sausage that he was sliding in to the oven to brown and keep warm.

 

He straightened up and turned to Dean, just walking in the door with another carrier bag from the Gas 'N Sip clutched to his chest. “Hey dude. Sorry I took so long-” Dean voiced distractedly as he fumbled his keys in to a dish on the side table and toed off his boots. Castiel stood frozen in the kitchen unable to process Dean's complete lack of concern for the fact that Castiel was stood in his kitchen, having liberally helped himself to Dean's things and started dinner without permission and-

 

“Oh wow.” Dean groaned, further bewildering Castiel. “What is that? My God, it smells amazing. Jeez, man. You can cook again, just goin' by the smell. Fuck.” The man grinned over at Castiel, where he was hanging up his jacket once more on the back of the door. Castiel smiled weekly, feeling off kilter and over balanced. Why would Dean be this nice?

 

“Can that wait? While I sort your neck out I mean?” Dean asked, nodding at the oven. Dean hadn't even questioned Castiel on what dinner was! Why was he so unconcerned? Castiel wondered, completely overwhelmed. He nodded slightly, and just stood still as he watched Dean advance toward him. 

 

“Here.” Dean announced gruffly, biting his lip. “It took me so long 'cos I walked down to that hardware place in that little row of junk shops a few blocks over. They stay open late.” He nodded as if that explained everything as he held out a clenched fist, the hand that wasn't holding the shopping bag. Castiel, fearful of what Dean had done or what he was going to do only flinched a little when Dean sighed and reached with the hand holding the bag for Castiel's hand. When his palm was facing up and flat, Dean dropped a shiny, newly cut key from his fist. “I realised that Sammy's got the only spare.” He grimaced and Castiel remembered that Sam was his brother, the reason he had paid attention to the man in front of him in the first place. With Dean's expression of hurt betrayal mixed with love and pride, he could tell that his earlier assessment that Dean wasn't broken after all was incorrect after all. 

 

Maybe he wasn't the only broken one.

 

-

 

Castiel held his breath as Dean leant over him, peering at his neck, head cocked to the side. He shut his eyes and bit his lip as Dean dabbed the antiseptic cotton wool swab against the wounds, making them sting horribly for a few moments, before he moved on to the next one. Five puncture wounds from Meg's nails that couldn't be passed off as anything other than what they were and a jagged mess of a wound where his house key had broken the skin on the other side of his adams apple. More puncture wounds on his shoulder, the gash on his cheek. Dean finally noticed his hand, and after wriggling Castiel's fingers for him, said there was nothing he could do about it, and it would heal.

 

Dean kept muttering 'sorry's under his breath and hissing in empathy every time Castiel flinched. It only took a few minutes for Dean to be finished, pressing small band aids over each wound and telling him he would clean and bandage it all again in the morning. Castiel finally snapped out of the daze he had been in, staring at the freckled bridge of Dean's nose, when Dean announced he was all done.

 

“Oh.” He grunted out in surprise. With a deep rumble of his stomach he smiled up at Dean a little, where he still stood over Castiel. “Um, thank you Dean. Can I-?” He broke off, nodding at the oven to indicate dinner. 

 

“Hell yeah, man. I'll just clean this up. Plates are in that cupboard down there.” Castiel followed Dean's instructions and plated up the food, steaming piles of pasta covered in a thick cheese sauce with garlic sausage, mushrooms and spinach mixed through it. “They didn't have macaroni, I'm sorry.” He felt the need to state as he placed the plate on the breakfast bar in front of Dean, already perched up on the stool the other side to where Castiel had sat to have his wounds dressed. His trench coat was no where to be seen.

 

“Dude are you kidding? I couldn't give a shit, this looks amazing!” Dean grinned boyishly up at him and he experienced the strange swooping sensation of having someone actually appreciate his cooking for the first time ever, rather than scalding him for some perceived fault. He watched in wonder as Dean all but inhaled the food, only just stopping short of actually licking the plate clean. “You- That- Just- Good. Very very good. Very incredibly good, Cas.” Castiel huffed out a laugh, the unique experience of not only _not_ ending up with half the meal on the floor, or wine thrown across the room, but having someone be pleased that they had eaten it, and _showing_ their appreciation, left him floundering for a response.

 

“I'll sort the washing up in the morning, man. Go. Sit on the sofa, Dr. Sexy starts in a minute. I'll find you the blankets.” And with that Dean disappeared in to his bedroom.

 

Despite Dean's statement, Castiel didn't want to be a burden, so he quickly wiped the plates and pots clean, setting them to drain on the side. That done, Castiel sat carefully on the edge of the sofa, back straight, not daring to touch the television remote. Meg had allowed him to watch TV, but only when she wasn't there. It was always her choice, so watching this Dr. Sexy, what ever that was, allowed him to slip back in to the zoned out state he always assumed around Meg in the evenings if she wanted to watch a program. 

 

“Dude! We're missing it!” Dean yelled from the bedroom, and Castiel started as he reeled off the channel number, clearly expecting Castiel to turn on the TV. When Dean emerged, he, too, was wearing bed clothes, similar to what Castiel had on, but with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. In his arms he held a pile of the soft fluffy looking blankets, which he dumped unceremoniously on to Castiel's lap, quickly followed by a pillow. “Want tea or hot chocolate or something?” He asked chirpily and Castiel could only nod in bewilderment. Dean scoffed and when, a few minutes later, Castiel found himself with a steaming mug of chamomile tea in his hand, he saw Dean's lip quirk up as the man took a sip of his own hot drink. “Can't drink coffee at night.” Dean seemed to need to explain, and he lent back against the cushions of the sofa, sprawling out as far as he could while sharing the space. 

 

They didn't touch, and Castiel was still covered in the blankets that Dean had given him, but slowly, inch by inch, he relaxed back to mimic Dean's posture.

 

After two episodes back to back, Castiel _finally_ snuggled under the pile of blankets having just wished Dean a good night. The man had promised to try and keep the noise down in the morning but he wasn't going to forego his coffee. He had also dug out a spare phone charger and thrown it at Castiel before shutting himself in his bedroom. It wasn't until Castiel's neck finally relaxed, dropping his head on to the warm pillow that smelt of Dean's clean laundry, his body curled up in a ball on the short sofa, that the events of the day finally crashed down on him, as if from the greatest of heights.

 

His eyes filled with tears as they had not over the years spent fending off Meg's attacks, both physical and mental. 

 

It was a mixture of feeling overwhelmed by Dean's kindness, by the freedom and friendliness offered. Of feeling regret that he had believed Meg's way to be the only way. That he had wasted so much time with her. That perhaps he wasn't as entirely dead already as she had said – dean had liked his cooking at least, maybe he did have some worth. 

 

It was all too much to change his entire life's perspective in the course of one evening. 

 

He cried silently, desperately, in to the crook of his elbow, dean's fluffy hoodie soaking up the tears, his soundless heaves pulling at the painful wounds at his neck.

 

He didn't stop for a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean smiled as he sneaked in to the lounge and saw the messy mop of dark hair and a pile of blankets wrapped up securely on his couch. It reminded him of the times when Sammy stayed, back in their first year of school, back when Sam had still wanted him and depended on him. 

 

Sammy's visits had become less and less frequent over the past two years. Both of them in their third years at school, Dean was only eight months away from graduating, from trying to get a job. Only eight months away from, for the first time in his life, trying to make a legitimate and legal go of his life. Sammy, doing pre-law, had many years of schooling still ahead of him. He no longer needed Dean. He had his friends, his girlfriend. He was going to become a lawyer, hold down a respectable job. He didn't need his mechanic brother any longer. 

 

Dean sighed as he filled the coffee machine up, eyeing his drafting table. It didn't matter that he wasn't training to be any old mechanic, like their father had been. Machines made sense to him, he wanted to design and build them, not simply fix shit-heaps of old cars. Sammy still didn't need him. His calls had dried up almost entirely, and his texts were becoming more stilted and short. 

 

Dean shook his head, trying to dispel the sour mood his thoughts were putting him in. He fingered the wallet sitting in his back pocket, a habit he had taken to recently, and allowed the warmth of the memory of the notes fill him slightly. He eyed the heap of snuffling human and fabric on his couch too, thinking that here was someone who he could help, someone who needed him, for however short a period of time. 

 

The coffee machine beeped it's readiness and Dean poured two cups, watching Castiel rise from the blankets with a confused and befuddled expression on his face. Laughing silently, Dean paced across the room and put the hot mug in the man's hands.

 

Castiel looked at his hands, wrapped around the mug, a frown on his face, until the heat and the pain clearly sank in and he gasped quietly and moved his hands to hold the mug by the handle. Dean stepped back silently to lean against the kitchen counter, eyeing his new guest. If it had been Sammy, he would have played loud music and annoyed the hell out of him, but this Castiel looked so confused to be where he was, Dean took pity. 

 

“Want some toast or something? I'm sure I got some bread in here somewhere.” Castiel started and stared at Dean hard, squinting with his head tilted to the side. It was clear to Dean the moment that reality sank in to the other man's sleep filled brain. 

 

Dean couldn't hold back the chuckle as he watched Castiel's jaw drop, his eyes widen comically as he looked about himself. He nearly threw the cup over himself and everything else in his haste to sit up properly and pull him self out of the heap of blankets. “I- I'm sorry. I'll, um, get up now. I'm so sorry. It wont happen again, I don't know- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to over sleep.” The poor guy was babbling and looked so frightened that Dean felt the need to go over to him and shove him, gently, back on to the sofa. “Dude. Chill. It's six thirty. I didn't even expect you to wake up, let alone get up. It's way too early, and if I could swap this fuckin' class of mine to a later one, I would. But apparently this is the only time in the world imaginable that this class can run, so I gotta be in school by seven. You are more than welcome to drink that coffee that you have, here, in your hands.” Dean put his own empty hand around Cas', both still clutching the mug, and pushed it closer to the man's face. “I'll put some bread in the toaster. I might even have butter in the fridge if you're lucky, and then I gotta shoot.” He stood again, and smiled at the guy, looking more crumpled than anyone ought to after sleeping on a couch. He had looked better after one night stands. “Er, showers all yours again. You got the key. You want me to leave you some more clean clothes?” 

 

The man had finally relaxed back, the tiniest amount, still not resting against the cushions, but not actively trying to jump up from his temporary bed. He had his nose almost in the cup of coffee, his eyes still wide and confused, even frightened, but he nodded, a flicker of gratefulness sliding over his features before being consumed, once more, by the confused fear.

 

Dean took his mug, nodding at Castiel, and downed the last of the bitter brew before re-entering his bedroom. The clothes that Castiel had been wearing desperately needed a wash, but the suit would need dry cleaning. Castiel would have to wait until he had enough time and money to splurge on that. His apartment boasted a washing machine, and he could throw most of Castiel's things in there, but the guy still wouldn't have much in the way of clothing until he was able to return to his apartment he had shared with his ex. 

 

Dean had had a shitty life, being dragged from motel to motel. Although he had slept around, a lot, before finding somewhere to live permanently, he had never really had a relationship. And, therefore, had never really suffered from a breakup, good or bad. He had no idea how long it would take Castiel to be able to have the strength to return to that place. Looking through the open door back to the lounge where he could see Castiel, still in the nest of blankets, his eyes darting around the room as if he couldn't believe he was there, Dean decided that he wouldn't be surprised if Castiel never went back there. 

 

The wounds on his neck alone were testament to the fact that his girlfriend had hurt him, and his attitude, his fear, the behaviours he had when he did anything he expected to anger Dean, and the surprise he showed every time Dean did anything nice, he snorted quietly at the next thought, or even anything of common, straight forward, normal, decency, told a fairly clear story to Dean.

 

It was the same trained reactions he had used to show to his Dad's drinking, to the banging and crashing, to the yelling and stumbling. Protect Sam, hide. If you can't hide, take the beating. Stay quiet, don't do anything to anger John, hide from the authorities, don't wince, hide the bruises, lie, lie lie. 

 

Dean had been twenty when John had finally managed to get himself killed. It had taken the two years of staying on the run, hiding from anyone until Sam turned eighteen, to stop flinching when ever anyone stumbled through a bar, or started a fight. If Sam came back and slammed the door, his immediate reaction would be to try and protect his brother, forgetting for a moment that John was dead, and that the noise was the brother in question, carelessly slamming the motel room door behind as he came home loaded down with snacks or pizza.

 

Dean pulled some boxer shorts from his drawer, followed by a pair of jeans and socks. He realised that Castiel would have to remain wearing his own shoes, so instead of a t-shirt and flannel, he grabbed a shirt, to go over the top of a black t-shirt and a thin sweater. It was a combination he would never wear himself, but he wanted the man to feel comfortable. 

 

“Here you go.” He said as he threw the small pile on to the sofa next to Castiel, who still looked confused and flinched away from the garments flying past his head. “Sorry.” Dean mumbled, deciding that the best course of action was not to baby Castiel. Yeah, he was clearly traumatised, but he didn't need Dean tip-toeing around him. He went to the tiny counter by the door where he left his keys and opened the door underneath. Within, he kept his seasonal clothing, flip-flops, hats, gloves and scarves, sun glasses. He pulled out his scarf, fleecy and dark blue, and dropped it on top of the pile next to Castiel. “There you go, that other one can go in the wash. I'll do a load tonight when I get back.” 

 

Dean went to his drafting table to retrieve his school bag. “I gotta run man, but there are clean towels in the bathroom, and the stuff to clean your neck are in there too. New band-aids 'n stuff. Er, feel free to make more toast and coffee,” he laughed again as Castiel had clearly forgotten the toast in the toaster that had popped minutes ago. “Just make sure you lock the door when you leave. Oh, shit. Er-” He fumbled his wallet from his pocket and grabbed a couple of notes. “Here's something so you can grab lunch, 'kay? I do not want you starving yourself just because.” He fixed Castiel with a stern glare before letting his face melt in to a smile, once more taking in Castiel's bewildered expression. 

 

“See you later then.” He threw over his shoulder as he started toward the door.

 

“Thank you, Dean.” Came Castiel's earnest voice as he reached the front door. He looked behind him and saw Castiel twisted in his seat, looking as if he were on the verge of tears, but a small smile on his lips. 

 

Dean just cleared his throat and nodded before slipping from the apartment.

 

-

 

Dean's classes finished for the day and he hadn't seen Castiel once around campus, but then, he reflected, that was hardly surprising seeing as they had shared a class for two years and Dean couldn't remember seeing him once before he had bumped in to him the previous day. 

 

He was just pulling his bag on, preparing to leave his last class of the day when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Quickly looking at the screen, his belly did a little flip of joy when he saw his brother’s name splashed across the screen.

 

He hurried from the room and in to the cold autumn air beyond and answered, a smile on his face and in his voice. “Sammy!” He greeted, striding toward the short cut between the engineering workshops and the woodwork and metal work building. 

 

“Hey Dean.” Sam's voice answered, sounding flat and heavy. Dean's heart sank, he knew that tone, he knew what it preceded. “Look, I know what you're going to think, but it's really not your fault, and it's kind of isn't mine either.” Sam hurried to say. Dean didn't want to hear it. Their first break of the year was coming up and Sam had promised he would visit. Dean had been supposed to visit Sam during the summer, was supposed to stay a few weeks but Sam had called before the end of the term and told him that he had been offered and internship for the summer. Dean had tried to be happy fro his brother, but it had meant that Dean wasn't able to see Sam the entire holiday. The six weeks had been long and quiet. He had rushed to get a temporary job, but had only been able to get bar work, not really needing the money, thanks to his scholarship, he had wanted it as a distraction.

 

Sam's voice sounded the same now as it had during that phone conversation. He was meant to be visiting in two weeks time, for a whole seven days, but now, Dean wasn't even sure he wanted to ask his next question. “What's come up then, Sammy?” He couldn't help the resigned, miserable tone to his voice. Sam, yet again, was proving that he didn't need his big bother. “My tutor put my name forward to work on a paper over the break. It's a great opportunity. I might even get my name published Dean!” He sounded excited, but also a little guilty. _Good._ Dean though to himself. He should. He was pleased though, Sam was doing so well at school, to be put forward for such a thing, before he had even got past his final exams was huge, but Dean still felt left behind, still felt un-needed, un-wanted.

 

They talked a little longer as Dean walked home, dragging his feet behind him. They hung up as he approached his  apartment , his voice full of false cheer, and genuine happiness for his  brother. He was proud, but just knew how utterly useless he was now.

 

He slunk through the front door, dropping his bag by his work table. He noted that the room was as immaculate as he usually left it, the pillows and blankets that Castiel had used, neatly folded on the floor at the end of the sofa. Dean softened a bit at the sight, remembering that at least he had been of help to Castiel the night before. Even if Castiel didn't return, didn't need him any more, he had done something useful for one night. 

 

Dean found a tumbler in the back of his cupboard and the bottle of whiskey he kept in the cupboard by the fridge. He really tried not to drink to drown his sorrows. Since settling down he had sorted himself out so much, with only the odd lapse, like the night he had first seen Cas. He poured a shallow measure and settled on to the sofa, lights still off and shoes still on. His thoughts sank, along with the whiskey, slowly and with a burn to his chest. He hated that Sammy didn't need him any more.

 

His mind cycled through all of his inadequacies. He had let their father pull them from place to place. Had allowed his destruction to ruin both of their schooling. He had let Sam get bullied, he had not prevented the old man from dying, he had continued to drag Sam about the place long after John's death, telling him self it was to protect him, but really it had been selfishness of him. He hadn't wanted to loose his little brother. The only thing that loved him, that even liked him, that thought him worth anything-

 

A sudden memory flashed through his head, dragging his unfocused gaze to rest intently upon his bag where his wallet was, stuffed with the notes, anonymous and from his friends. He had to admit that the notes he had been written had helped, especially the anonymous one. Not in and of it's self, but it had pointed out to him his friends, like their own notes had not. Benny and Charlie were there for him, even if he didn't feel able to reach out. 

 

And, he could be there for Castiel.

 

Dean started at the scratching noise at the lock on his front door, and a thump. The door swung open, admitting Castiel, looking sheepish, with shopping bags in his hands. Dean's eyebrows raised and he leapt up to help, taking the bags in the hand not clutching the whiskey glass.

 

“Thank you.” Castiel coughed out, his throat still evidentially sore. 

 

Dean didn't bother answering. He placed the glass on the breakfast bar and emptied the bag next to it. Inside he found only a few things; minced beef, an onion, a jar of pickled chilis and bbq sauce and mustard. He quirked an eyebrow up at Castiel who continued to look embarrassed.

 

“I, er, spent your money on, um. Dinner?” He took a deep breath after squeezing out the words, then dumped the other carrier bag on the table. Dean watched with concern as Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, and wincing as if pre-empting a blow before he let words tumble from his mouth. “I spent the rest on new underwear and things. I'm sorry. I'll pay you back I didn-”

 

“Cas! Shut up! Jeez. It's cool. I just hope you didn't go hungry today at school, that's all.” The look of horrified guilt that crossed Cas' face actually made a laugh bubble up in his throat. “Seriously? You think I'm gonna be pissed? Yeah, you can totally pay me back, but it's your money while you got it. Do with it what you want, man. I just want you to get better, and eating will help, y'know?”

 

Castiel nodded slowly. “I just wanted you to have proper food again...” He tailed off, looking confused. 

 

Dean exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, then huffed out a laugh. “Shit, man. Are we tryin' to look after each other? Why don't we just get married while we're at it?” He sniggered and turned away, snagging the tumbler from the side and taking a sip. 

 

The whiskey brought back the memories of why he had been sitting in the dark, drinking in the first place. His face fell and his mood soured. He looked back at Cas who was looking at him strangely.

 

“Um. Dean. I'm sorry if this was- Um. I- Um. I'm straight.” He left that sentence hanging in the air, looking more uncomfortable than Dean had yet seen him. 

 

His mouth hung open while he stared at the man. He cold admit to himself that the guy was attractive, or, well, at least handsome. But, that's why he thought he had taken him in?

 

“Dude! It's was just a jo- I mean, I am t- I Just wanted to help you out of a shitty situation, not get you in my bed!” He knew he looked totally bewildered, his face open, and he watched as Castiel licked his lips and frown, swallowing heavily. 

 

“Um. Okay… Er, sorry?” 

 

Dean hitched a smile back on to his face. “S'cool. Wanna hand with all that? What were you planning on making?” 

 

Castiel seemed to shake himself, blinking rapidly. He swallowed again and, more hesitantly than Dean thought necessary, asked Dean to dice the onions while he turned the oven on to cook off some of the frozen fries Dean had in his freezer. 

 

He took time to explain to Dean what he wanted him to do and why, telling him that if he had had a little more money available, he would have bought potatoes too, and made fries from scratch, but he had spent more than he had expected on the chilis, but good burgers need chilis, he ascertained. 

 

By the time they were sitting in front of the television, watching a program about string theory, that Dean didn't understand, but found interesting, he completely agreed with Castiel's earlier statement. The meat had been fried off in the mustard, there had been cheese in the fridge which he had melted over the meat. Cas had friend off the bread quickly in the pan to absorb the last of the juices before stacking on the onions and the meat and dropping on the finely diced chilis.

 

Dean groaned long and loud around the first mouthful.

 

“Ugh. If you're not careful I won't let you leave, man.” He grinned and Castiel seemed at first a little worried, but then, staring at Dean's ridiculously meat covered face, hands salty from the fries, he seemed to relax, taking the statement for what it was. He smiled. Small and shy at first, then wide and gummy, joy pulsing behind his eyes.

 

“May I ask why you were drinking in the dark when I came in?” Castiel asked, clearly worried he had over stepped his bounds. Dean sighed internally and his newly jogged memories. 

 

“Just a shitty chat with my brother. He was meant to visit. He's got some really awesome job to do now instead. I am happy for him. But, I dunno-”

 

“You feel let down?” Cas asked hesitantly.

 

“I guess.” He sighed, picking up Castiel's empty plate from his lap and piling it on his own before standing. “I think that makes you a very good brother, if, um, that's not- If that's okay to say?”

 

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, Cas. You can say what you want. And, thanks.” He quirked a half smile at the man sitting straight backed on his sofa. “ Dude, chill. Honestly you can say what you want. I'm not gonna do a fucking thing to hurt you, you got that?” He finally asked, voice a little harder than he had intended. 

 

Castiel sat back extremely slowly, ducking his head and nodding. “I understand, Dean. Thank you.” His voice was quiet, meek, but there was a hint of warmth. 

 

“Cool.” Dean placed the plates in the sink and turned back to Cas. “I'm gonna go to bed man, I'm kinda done. It's Saturday tomorrow. I may not see you until lunch time.” He stated, realising just how much he wanted a decent lie in. 

 

Castiel nodded, understanding evident on his face. “Good night Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I Tumble...r](anonymousantonym.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on in a slight suspension of disbelief about the activities of banks and the police may be required due to lazy (non existent) research on the matter, and plot.

Saturday morning was spent by Castiel, chewing his fingernails bloody and phoning his bank. It was surprisingly easy to get that issue sorted out. They had already flagged the account for suspicious behaviour, but they had been unable to reach him to corroborate the problem. Castiel discovered that Meg had changed the phone number on the account to her own. He reported all the problems to them, and got all of the spending on the account since his break up refunded. Once he hung up he sighed an enormous breath of relief. He would have new bank cards sent to Dean's address within the week. He would be able to pay Dean back, he would be able to continue to study. 

 

His next mission, before Dean surfaced from his bedroom, was to call Gabriel.

 

He had not answered his new weekly call from Gabe because his phone had run out of battery before then. Since Dean had given him a spare charger, he had left his phone off, too drained to field Gabriel's manner. 

 

Eyeing Dean's closed door, he brought up his cousins name and pressed dial.

 

“CASTIEL! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN. I THOUGHT SHE HAD KILLED YOU. YOU HAVEN'T BEEN ANSWERING. WHAT HAPPENED? SHE JUST LAUGHED WHEN I CALLED HER. WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? ARE YOU IN HOSPITAL? DO I NEED TO COME AND GET YOU?”

 

Castiel winced, in pain from the lashing his ear had just received, and at the concern Gabriel had from him.

 

“Hey Gabe. I'm, um, fine. I guess.” 

 

There was silence on the other end of the line, slight panting at Gabriel's shouting fit.

 

“I left her.”

 

The panting stopped. 

 

“Are you-” Gabe broke off. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Gabriel's voice had gone from one of terrified anger to disbelief to ecstasy. 

 

“No. Um. I'm not sure you'll like the reasons why. But. Um.” 

 

“I couldn't give two fucks why at this point! Cassie, seriously. I'm so fucking happy that you've left her. You are okay right? You're not hurt?”

 

Castiel sighed. He didn't want to tell the truth, but he knew he had to. “She, um, left a few bruises and a couple of lacerations to my neck and cheek and hand. But. A, um, friend helped me clean them up, once I got off the st- Once I got a place to stay.”

 

He knew he hadn't fooled Gabriel, but he hoped to hell he would let it slide. 

 

Hell, it seemed, was listening. “Can I come visit?” That surprised Castiel. He wasn't expecting Gabe to be concerned to that degree.

 

“I will have to ask my…… Friend. I suppose. His apartment is small. There isn't really anywhere to sleep.” 

 

He could  _hear_ Gabriel raise his eyebrow. “I've only been here two nights. I'm sleeping on his sofa.” He huffed out an exasperated sigh. Gabriel sniggered. 

 

“Ask away little cuz'. I can always find a motel.” Castiel smiled. For the first time, part of his fear that Meg was completely correct, that he was entirely worthless, lessened. Gabe still wanted him in his life. 

 

He heard a tinny shout for Gabe through the line. “Shit, I have to go, they need me back at the counter. I  _will_ call again soon, you hear me? That phone of yours better be on okay?” 

 

“Yes, Gabe. It was good to talk to you.” He smiled, letting the truth of the statement sound aloud in his voice. “You too Cuz. I'm glad you're free of her. More than I can possibly tell you. Stay safe, 'kay?”

 

“Bye.” Castiel answered, nodding. 

 

Castiel took in the bleeding edges of his fingernails and decided to put off working for the rest of the day in favour of coffee and a shower. And maybe some television. It was a luxury it seemed Dean was happy to allow him. 

 

-

 

Dean surfaced at about half eleven. Castiel had already tidied any mess that was left over of the night before and his morning. He was curled in a ball at the very end of the sofa intently watching a re-run of 'Friends'. 

 

Dean fell on to the other end of the sofa letting out a soft grunt. He was still wearing his pyjama pants and had pulled a hoodie on over his top half. His hair was mussed and he had pillow marks lining his cheek. His eyes were bleary and watery. His jaw clicked when he yawned hugely. 

 

“Good morning Dean.” Castiel said, easily, amusement filling his voice. He caught himself wondering why, for the first time, he hadn't been terrified to speak to this man. He was still scared that his note sending would be discovered, that he was over stepping his bounds, that he would do something wrong and be reprimanded. At least, he thought, he couldn't be banished to the sofa, seeing as he was already there. 

 

He smiled a little as Dean stared at him with sleep filled, hooded eyes, mouth slightly open. This sofa, despite not being a pull-out, was far superior to the one he had had to use at his apartment with Meg. 

 

“Ornin'” mumbled Dean, who then closed his eyes and slumped back on to the sofa cushions. The sofa was small, and the other man was close. Castiel could smell his sleep warmed aroma, soft and a little musty. His mouth ticked up in another tiny smile. It was nice to see a soft side to the hurting, blustering man. 

 

“Coffee?” He asked, taking pity on the man who so clearly ought to still be asleep. “Ugh.” He grunted, nodding his head. “You're an angel.” 

 

Castiel fiddled with the machine again, already having had two cups that morning. His stomach gurgled loudly in the quiet of the room, drowning out the television's canned laughter. “Dude. Did you not eat already?” Dean asked, voice still slightly slurred with sleep. 

 

“Um. No? I didn't know what was okay.” Dean made a noise of discontent, like an exasperated groan. “It's cool. If there's food here, you're welcome to it. I mean, those meals you cooked? They earn you eternal rights to my cereal stash on their own okay? You're not here on sufferance man, I wanted to help out. I can't help you if your starving to death in my presence.”

 

“Sorry Dean.” He felt bad. He honestly didn't know why Dean had even allowed him in to his home, let alone given him food and clothes. He was constantly surprised that Dean seemed happy to let him do anything. Was this normality? Or had his strict rules about what he could wear, where he could go, when he could eat been the abnormal situation?

 

He cleared his throat as he poured the coffee in to two mugs. The ache was abating from Meg's bruising, the cuts from her nails healing well since Dean had cleaned them for him. Dean hadn't hurt him. Hadn't shouted, hadn't threatened. Okay, they weren't in a relationship. He shook his head, dislodging that thought instantly. But, Dean and he were living together, however separately. However briefly. And; he felt safe. 

 

With Meg, he had been resigned and accepting, but he had never felt safe. 

 

Castiel bit down on his lip hard. He would not cry in front of his new friend. His new friend who was proving, day by day, that fear wasn't meant to be a way of life. 

 

Castiel wanted to run. That was the one downside to living like he was, to sleeping on someone else's couch in their one bedroom apartment. There was no where to call his own. He wanted to run, but that was not a feeling that was new to him. He had constantly wanted to escape from Meg, yet he had bottled up his emotion. The situation was different now. He did not want to run _from_ Dean. His reasons were not brought on by Dean's actions directly. He simply wanted space to process, to _feel._

 

Instead, he sat back on the sofa, and clutched his own coffee mug after handing Dean his. Dean had eyed him, his bitten lip which was filling his mouth with the tang of blood, but he said nothing.

 

It was another kick in the gut to the way his life had always been led before. Meg would never have left him alone.

 

-

 

Dean put the beer down in front of Castiel.

 

Castiel eyed it as if it was a chalice of poison.

 

Dean nudged it closer to Castiel's hand.

 

Castiel's wide and worried eyes flicked up to meet Dean's amused gaze.

 

Dean took a swig of his own beer.

 

Castiel hesitantly raised the glass to his lips, inhaling deeply of the aroma.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow, daring.

 

Castiel sipped.

 

Castiel's eyes grew rounder, as he gulped again.

 

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy. You've _never_ drunk before and you're twenty-seven. Dude, you need to take it slow. I got you something light, but I still don't wanna deal with sloshed Cas on the first go, okay?”

 

Castiel smiled. “Okay Dean. Thank you. It's- Very bitter. But pleasant.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. It's beer, man.” But, Dean had a small secret smile on his lips behind the edge of his own glass. One he hoped Castiel couldn't see. 

 

The guy was- kinda cool. He actually liked him. It was weird. It seemed something he should have thought of when he had offered him a place to stay, an address for his bank. But, whether he would actually like him had seemed irrelevant. He had wanted to feel useful again. Sam didn't want him- No, Sam was an adult at university, and didn't require Dean to oversee every aspect of his life any more. 

 

Dean rolled his eyes at himself. He was trying, okay?

 

But, he had offered Castiel a place to crash because he saw in him, much of what he, himself had had to go through. Being on the street, cold, wet and dirty. Being hurt with no one to care for you. Being starving, scared and worried. Yup. All things Dean never wished to repeat, and he had wanted to help Castiel get out of that awful position. 

 

They still hadn't talked about what exactly had happened, but having seen the wounds on Castiel's neck, shoulders, cheek and hand, he could work it out. He hadn't told Castiel that he had heard him on the phone in the morning, the first time he had woken up. The walls there thin and Castiel's voice had been an anxiety laden higher pitch that had carried to Dean's cocoon of a bed. It had sounded as if Castiel's girlfriend had taken his money from his account. He had noticed every time the man had flinched when making a decision for himself, or voicing his opinion. He saw how the guy glowed when Dean complimented his cooking. Had noted the wonder when he had asked to be shown how to cook. He had seen the tears building in his eyes, the bitten lip when he was clearly thinking things through. 

 

Something they had spoken about though, was when Dean had suggested getting a beer and something to eat for lunch at a local bar. Castiel had admitted to never having drank before.

 

Dean hadn't meant to, but he couldn't hold back. He had been drinking since he was thirteen. He had asked why. Castiel had, sheepishly, told him that his ex- didn't like him drinking. So he hadn't. Ever.

 

It was another mark on the 'abusive relationship' tally he had going in his head, but one that he could help out with. No self respecting, twenty-seven year old accountant didn't drink. Hell, the regular ones probably needed to, just to spend yet another day looking at columns of numbers. 

 

Castiel had huffed out a small laugh when Dean had said that aloud to him, and nodded shyly when Dean had suggested they try it. 

 

Dean's musings were broken by the arrival of their food. 

 

He watched on, amused, as Castiel shovelled an enormous pile of chili covered nachos in to his mouth, chewing rapidly with obvious delight. He had paused, his own pulled pork covered nachos raised half way to his lips, suppressing a laugh. The man had cooked for him both nights that he had stayed on Dean's couch, and he had eaten a decent sized portion each time. Dean knew he must be reeling a little from not having eaten properly the days that he had been on the street, but watching him inhale the nachos was hilarious, he clearly just _liked_ food, or had a huge appetite. Dean was moderately surprised that he was so slim and toned, and not a little chubby around the middle. 

 

“What?” 

 

Castiel's question jerked him from his thought's about Castiel's trim but built form in his oversized sleeping clothes that morning.

 

“Uh?” He answered intelligently. “Why are you staring at me eat?” Castiel reiterated. Dean leaned back, realising that that was exactly had be had been doing. “Oh. Er, I was just thinking that you seem. Um. Hungry, I guess.”

 

Castiel looked down at his already half empty plate, then at Dean's untouched one. “Oh. Meg never really let me eat out. She always expected me to cook.” He shrugged and pushed another loaded chip in his mouth. “It's good.” He grinned, closed mouthed, as he continued to chew. 

 

Dean burst out laughing. 

 

He continued to chuckle as the expected flash of fear filled Cas' face, the moment he realised he had said something he deemed unacceptable. He shook his head, smiling. “Dude.” He said, as a neutral term of acceptance, and he started shovelling his own food in to his face at high speed. 

 

-

 

Sunday morning dawned, waking Castiel early. He had forgotten to drop the blind in Dean's living room before sleeping the evening before. He and Dean had returned from the bar, full and buzzing slightly from the two beers they had had each. Dean had forced him to watch his box set of Dr. Sexy from the beginning, and they had only gone to bed when Castiel had fallen asleep in his corner of the sofa making Dean mock him at length before leaving him to sleep properly.

 

He shuffled to the bathroom and, once again, took the time to luxuriate in the heat of a long shower. He dried off and pulled on his new underwear, looking at the rumpled pile of Dean's loaned clothing. His own clothes were still waiting to be dry cleaned, and, although Dean had said he was welcome to borrow anything he wanted, Castiel had only swapped his shirts, choosing to only take one pair of Dean's jeans to wear until they needed washing. 

 

He sighed unhappily. He needed to return to his apartment. Or, his ex's apartment. As he pulled on the same t-shirt he had worn the day before, he wondered idly if Meg had changed the locks. He wouldn't be able to go back there today, not unless he knew Meg had left. He didn't want to face seeing her.

 

-

 

Three cups of coffee and one anguished conversation later, and strict instructions for Castiel to stay put, no argument, Dean found himself in the elevator up to Meg's apartment, with two empty duffel bags in one hand, Cas' blood stained key in the other, and a determined expression fixed upon his features.

 

In this he would help Castiel. The man had stuttered and bumbled his way apologetically through an explanation of being sorry that he needed to borrow more clothes, but he couldn't go and get his own yet. Dean had, almost forcefully, made Cas text him a list of essential things he wanted from the apartment. The list had been woefully small.

 

The contents of his chest of drawers in the bedroom and a short list of paperbacks, a longer list of reference books and a laptop. Everything else, he had said, was either Meg's or he had no desire to keep it. Dean had asked about school work. Castiel had simply nodded at the tatty book bag sitting at the end of the sofa.

 

Dean stepped from the lift and in to the, only slightly, familiar corridor. He looked at the door opposite Cas' old apartment. He shrugged off the memory of the used feeling that that evening had brought him. He may not be a better person, healthier, more loved, whatever- since then, but he had that memory fresh enough in his mind to know that that was something he no longer wished to repeat. He had thought at the time that it wasn't his most intelligent idea, but he had wanted that longed for silence from the thoughts swirling his head. He knew now, that it didn't work. He didn't need to get wasted and seek a warm body to make himself feel better.

 

What he did need though… He was still unsure. 

 

Friendship maybe. Benny. Charlie. Sammy. Maybe Castiel?

 

With that thought he knocked aggressively on Meg's front door, a smug warmth filling his chest at the service he was about to do for his new friend.

 

That warmth faded in moments to be replaced when Meg's snide face and bleached hair drifted in to view, there went his hope that she wouldn't be in. “And what do you want, Dean Winchester?” She asked, her head tilted and an eerie imitation of his new friend. “Begging me to take back my pathetic partner already? He's quite the burden isn't he?” She leant against a door frame, sultry and childlike by turns. 

 

“I- What? No! How do you know who I am?” He demanded, suddenly furious. Cas wasn't a burden.

 

She wiggled her phone in her hand. “I like to keep a track of my things.” She smiled, no hint of sadness or loss showing on her sharp features. 

 

Dean's body tensed up. She was tracking him? He had only turned his phone back on the previous morning, he had said. She worked fast. He shook his head, trying to ignore her insinuation. He had a plan, and he meant to stick to it. 

 

Getting Castiels possessions was only a part of it.

 

They had spoken that morning of more than just Castiel's desire for his own belongings. He had told Dean of his conversation with his cousin, to which Dean had been over joyed. So happy that Castiel did in fact have someone else in his life. Dean had said he was welcome to stay if he needed. He would be able to source an air bed or something from someone, he was sure. Castiel had also mentioned his conversation with the bank. He had been eager to let Dean know that he wasn't free loading, and that he was getting access allowed to his account, new cards were being sent. 

 

Dean had paused at the mention of him getting access again. He had questioned Cas, and the other man had mentioned that the bank had said they had been suspicious for a while, and when they had discovered that someone other than Castiel himself had been able to change the phone number linked with his details, and withdraw money from his private account, they had asked him a whole host of questions. 

 

Dean had quickly developed a theory that it seemed had eluded his new friend. He wasn't surprised that Cas hadn't picked up on it. Even talking about the phone call had the man on the verge of a panic attack by the look of him. Dean was not surprised that the guy didn't notice the very official, police style led questions. 

 

Assuming control of someone else's account without their say so? That was generally considered theft and/or fraud. Meg was going to be investigated. If they did that, they would discover, with any luck, that Meg wasn't just stealing her partners money the minute he walked out the door. 

 

Dean was determined to help provide evidence to show that she had hurt him, if the police did ever come to call.

 

It was too much to hope that Castiel would report her of his own accord, but Dean would help ensure that he would be able to press charges, with evidence, if he ever wished to. 

 

Dean blinked over to where Meg still stood, now looking at the screen of her phone. “Nice block you live in, by the way.” She stated, sickly sweet.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and grunted a response. She knew where he lived, who he was and that Castiel was staying with him. He should be angry, he should feel violated, or pissed that helping Castiel had brought him to this psycho's attention. But- He really didn't care. The GPS tracking had just led her to his place sooner rather than later, and his address and whereabouts where hardly private. One call to the local council or the college campus would have provided the same information. It was just one black mark against the new life style he had, he couldn't just up and leave. And, he realised, as he dropped to his knees in front of the book case by the door, he didn't actually want to. 

 

Dean concentrated then on blocking out the insinuating and irritating noise of Meg, and picking up the things that Castiel had requested. From the book case he plucked the books he had requested, and nothing more. He found the pile of grey, boring looking text books, strewn across the floor of the lounge. They were tatty, with the spines broken and pages ripped. Many had the covers slashed, or stained with, what Dean could only assume, was red wine. He dutifully picked up every scrap of paper that looked like it belonged inside the accounting books. 

 

He found the remains of Castiel's laptop under the wooden coffee table. It was broken in half with, when Dean looked at the hovering Meg and let his eyes fall to her feet, looked suspiciously like a stiletto heel puncture hole through the screen. He picked it up nonetheless, figuring that the hard drive was probably rescue-able. He would ask Charlie to take a look. 

 

He barged his way past Meg, who he was hesitant of going too close to. He knew she was violent and he didn't want to provoke her, not because he refused to hit a girl, although it didn't sit right with him, but because he didn't want to give her any ammunition what so ever. 

 

That thought gave him an idea. As he walked over to the chest of drawers where Castiel had indicated all his clothes were kept, he fumbled his phone from his pocket, hidden from Meg's perpetual gaze by his turned back. As he swept up arms full of underwear, neatly folded shirts and rolled suit jackets, (he realised the enormous closet, standing against one whole wall of the room must be just for Meg's things,) he silenced his phone and brought up the app he wanted.

 

In the bottom drawer of the chest he found running clothes and two pairs of shoes, one formal, like the pair Cas already owned, and the other, trainers. 

 

He sighed sadly at the tiny amount of belongings the other man seemed to own and want. Looking at the array of formal clothing and sweater vests, he shook his head. He needed to take Cas shopping, with decent supervision.

 

Dean bent down, back still to Meg hovering in the door way, and gripped the two bags, heavy with clothes, shoes and books. He turned and took two steps toward the well put together woman. She stayed still, threateningly quiet, but Dean moved quickly around her, siding in to the room beyond. On his way out, he managed to take a couple of photos of the apartment, the kitchen knife still sitting on the floor where she had butchered Castiel's books and the shards of glass littering the carpet under a large splattered wine stain on the wall, as well as a second kitchen knife sticking out the back of the sofa, which Dean had, amazingly, not noticed on his way in. He heard her take a great breath to start yelling at him for the obvious photography, but before she made a noise he was spinning about and angling for the door.

 

“Nice to meet you Meg!” He yelled on his way through the door, turning, and running down the corridor, hoping that the elevator was on his side today. 

 

It seemed the device had had enough of Meg too, and opened immediately to his touch of the call button. He darted in, calmly pressed the ground floor button and waved as Meg caught up with him just in time to see the doors close on Dean's smiling face and waving hand, moments before she could force them to reopen.

 

“Thanks.” Dean said in to the air of the elevator, and patted the grey metal wall. He let out a deep breath, the adrenalin wearing off slightly. “Fuck.” He whispered. “How did he put up with that for five minutes, let alone how ever many years! Jeez, no wonder he's terrified of putting a toe out of line.” 

 

The elevator’s only answer was to open it's door to the lobby with a soft hum, and the echoing sound of high-heels clacking down the stair case adjacent to it.

 

“Woah.” Dean huffed out, and legged it from the building, car keys already in hand.


	8. Chapter 8

“Okay, buddy,” Dean started as he walked through the door, to find an obviously frozen-mid-pace Castiel standing in the living room, “we're gonna turn off that evil, bugged, traceable cell phone of yours, and call Charlie.”

 

Castiel's entire body went from one of nervous anticipation and fear to one of stoic, solid bewilderment. He pivoted on the spot to face Dean, in his borrowed t-shirt and jeans, his arms hung heavy, suddenly devoid of the wringing of hands he had been doing. He tilted his head to the side and squinted at Dean, as if trying to work out what the hell was happening. “What the hell is happening?” He asked, grave and gravelly. 

 

Dean couldn't help it, as seemed to be the case around Cas. He laughed.

 

“Oh and I need to check on those wounds you got.” He squinted back at Cas, trying to make out the bruises around his throat. They were still obvious, although faded to yellows and greens rather than being vivid reds and purple.

 

“Dean?” Castiel questioned, still in the most ridiculous and quizzical pose Dean had ever seen.

 

He paused, not wanted to worry the guy, but he figured, if the situation were reversed, he would want to know. He would also want to kill Meg, but, he had withheld himself when he had been in her apartment, he was pretty sure he could hold back an angry Castiel. The dude still looked half starved, although, he thought as his gaze drifted to the man's arms, bared by the t-shirt, he was actually a hell of a lot more built than he had at first assumed. 

 

“I don't want to worry you.” He began, placing the duffels of Castiel's things by the sofa. “You realise that just worries me more right?” Castiel asked, frowning hard.

 

“Dude!” Dean laughed, completely overwhelmed by this guy, “I've met Meg, I mean, you've been sassing me from day one. How do you even- Jeez!” He smiled, but then the stopped short. Castiel seemed to have changed in to an entirely different person before his eyes. He was hunched, seemed to have lost fifteen pounds, looked terrified, looked as if he was about to bolt. “Woah, woah, no. Dude, it's cool.” He help his hands out, placating, like he would a frantic animal. “I was just kidding. It's awesome. Sass me all you want! Please. Dude. I am so fucking happy you're feelin' good enough for that-” 

 

Throughout his tirade, he noticed Castiel's shoulder's relaxing back down, his spine straightening, his eyes softening. “there we go” Dean smiled at him when Castiel looked calm, albeit, still quizzical.

 

Dean flopped in to the sofa, hugging a pillow to his belly. “It's Meg-”

 

-

 

As Dean spoke, Castiel became more and more aware of his resignation, his anxiety, his acceptance and his fear. Not fear of Meg, but fear of himself when he had no one. The emotions rose up and swamped him, pulling him down, physically, until he too, was sat on the sofa, slumped and heavy. But simultaneously, Castiel could feel an uncertain and confused part of him rear up. Dean telling him of Meg's continued tracking of him, of the threat that caused to him, and to Dean just by being in his home, the terror that a law suit might create, the fact that it might have been taken out of his hands caused him only more anxiety. But for all of that, for all the evidence proving just how awful a person he really was, he could feel the underlying notion that it wasn't necessarily true. 

 

The the merge few days since staying with Dean, his fear, of himself, of others, had reduced, had felt almost manageable. 

 

It only just struck him, that less than a week ago, if he had had to telephone the bank, he would have spent half the day preparing himself for it. If he had been taken to a bar for lunch, he would have sat in near silence the whole time, watching and waiting for anyone and everyone to attack him, either verbally, physically or just with their mere presence and waiting to be allowed to eat or drink or talk. Sitting, talking and watching films of his own choice, with a friend was so beyond the realms of possibility, that he was amazed he had only just noticed. 

 

Yes, he still froze up, yes, he still flashed back to moments that similar actions would have caused Meg to explode, where as his new friend simply smiled or laughed, but he began to realise that with Dean, he was starting to be… Functional. Not entirely, not completely, but without the constant knowledge that pain, yelling and fear were the only methods to bring him from his shell, _it appeared that he was coming out from his shell…_

 

“-get you some.” Dean's words finally cut back in to his mind. He looked up, confused at Dean's words. “I- I'm sorry?!” 

 

Dean sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. “Were you listening at all dude?” Castiel looked down, awaiting the familiar feeling of shame at the rebuke, but it never came. He looked up and found a soft, bemused look on Dean's face, and Castiel felt the need to smile, a little ruefully, at him in apology, rather than flinch away and stutter out the words. 

 

“Er, no. No I Wasn't.” He stated, not fearing Dean's response to that either. 

 

“I said,” Dean began, in a faux testy voice, “that I'll call my friend Charlie. She'll probably have a laptop lying around you can borrow, and she'll definitely be able to pull your data from the broken one.” Dean stopped there, reacting to the horrified expression Castiel could feel contorting his own features. “Oh, you didn't hear that bit either huh? Um, your delightful ex snapped your computer in half and stamped on the screen. She kinda fucked a load of your text books up too.” Castiel just nodded in mild shock. He really shouldn't be surprised though. 

 

“Um, what was that about getting me some? And, er, you mentioned my phone too?” He suddenly remembered, and he fished for the devise from his pocket. 

 

“Oh. Well, Meg knows where I live, and that you're staying here. She's been tracking the GPS on your phone.” Castiel didn't react to that, he already knew about it, but had stupidly forgotten. He wanted to berate himself and grovel in apology, but Dean didn't look irritated, so he simply turned the phone off and placed it on the coffee table. It meant another excruciating phone conversation, or a visit to the store to get a new one, but maybe, that wouldn't be the ordeal it used to be. Before Dean.

 

“And, I said that I wasn't sure if I found all your clothes. I only saw underwear, shirts, suits and running stuff. Oh and a few sweater vests.” Here, Dean rubbed the back of his neck and looked down, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you look comfortable in my old stuff, I wouldn't really figure you for wearing formal stuff all the time. So. Um. We can go shopping if you want and grab some more, like, casual stuff?”

 

Castiel recoiled a little, as the realisation of what Dean was saying, hit him. He didn't have time to notice Dean's deflated reaction to his own, but his thoughts were churning. He could have clothes that _he_ wanted. He hadn't picked out his own clothes since he was about fifteen. His mother had been damning of the black jeans and chains, bulky trainers and baggy t-shirts, backwards baseball caps and the perpetual scabs up his forearms and elbows from falling off his skateboard, but she had never forbidden it. 

 

He suddenly felt immersed in a world he had practically forgotten. For a brief period, of maybe a few short weeks, Castiel had found friends. He had all but forgotten them. He had saved his allowance and bought a skateboard at the end of the school year. It had seemed practical as a method of getting around during the summer, but then he had found others like him who were skating everyday too. They took him to the skate park and showed him tricks and encouraged him to try his luck on the half pipe. They'd given him t-shirts they no longer wanted, and he spent the last of his savings on a pair of trainers. The older brother of one of his friends threw a pair of baggy jeans his way one day when he'd fallen and ripped his own, straight cut pair in more places than he cared to admit to. 

 

And then he had started school again, and the bullying had started up again. His friends at the skate park attended a different school, and homework took up all his time. He was laughed at for dressing differently, and he couldn't see his friends any more. He retreated and retreated until there was nothing left. His mother took him shopping and helped him pick out bland sensible clothes, clothes that would help him blend in and never be noticed. 

 

And then, within two years, Meg had decided that he was the one for her, and she had decided what he was allowed to wear. Slacks, shirts, blazers, jackets or sweater vests. He had been dressing like and old man since he was eighteen.

 

He had hardly noticed the change of clothing that Dean had given him. The soft jeans and old t-shirts were still clothing not of his choice, given to him to wear, deemed acceptable. 

 

Castiel suddenly stood and looked down at himself. He had on the same pair of ripped and ancient jeans, soft to the touch, a little tight around his thighs, a little rucked up around his ankles, resting on his bare feet. The t-shirt was just as soft and faded, a design he didn't recognize emblazoned on the front. He was cold, he suddenly noticed, too, and he shivered with a laugh, knowing that Meg would have forced one of the sweater vests on to him, rather than let him be. One of those _seriously ugly_ sweater vests he suddenly realised. 

 

Castiel laughed.

 

“Can we? Please? Shit, Dean, please. I'll pay you back. I- I need- I- please?” He couldn't even get the words out around his excited grin.

 

He liked what he was wearing now, but the thought of being allowed to _browse._ Of being able to look at different styles, different items, instead of going directly to the isle of shirts, or blue suits. He could dress like a '90's skater again! Or a punk, or a goth! Another laugh escaped him, and he looked at Dean with pleading eyes. 

 

Dean's face was a picture, surprise, shock and amusement written clear across his freckled face. But he was smiling too, and nodding readily. “Of course, dude. Anything you want.”

 

Castiel absolutely beamed.

 

-

 

“Why?” Castiel asked a little petulantly.

 

Dean let out a noise of frustration, which he bit back before huffing out a breath. “Because, I, personally, would like to see your ex-girlfriend, who has hurt you and ruined your property and stolen your money, prosecuted, Cas.” Dean was obviously trying hard to keep his temper in check.

 

Castiel mused, through the anxiety of letting Dean photograph what remained of his injuries, that Dean's anger should be terrifying him, and yet, he knew it wasn't it directed at him.

 

“But- I can't- I'm not-” Dean held up a hand to stop him talking. “Dude, I know. It's fine. And, I'm not going to make you do anything, but please, if I take pictures now, before they fade, then we have the evidence, _if_ you want to do something about it in the future, or _if_ the police come around.”

 

Castiel slumped, his eyes slewing off Dean's face and skittering in fear from his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, where the light was much brighter, his wounds far more lurid and painful looking. “Fine.” He muttered, straightening his neck to look straight forward as Dean smiled in relief and pulled his phone from his pocket, opening the camera app.

 

He shivered when Dean's fingers brushed his throat to make him silently lift his head, showing more of the sickly bruises. His heart thumped in his chest when he reached out and nudged his jaw one way and the other. He jumped when Dean took his hand in his and rotated it to show the bruising from the stiletto heel, and he down right ignored the lurch in his belly when Dean's hand brushed the neck of his t-shirt aside to show the cuts in his shoulder, scabbed and healing.

 

-

 

“Hello?” Castiel answered his brand new phone. 

 

He and Dean had gone to the store on Sunday, after Castiel had shown Dean how to make omelettes for lunch. They had picked up a new phone and got the girl in the shop to switch all the information over, while promising that the GPS signal wouldn't be traceable to his new phone. She had looked extremely bewildered, merging in to slightly scared by the end of the transaction, but Castiel had had Dean next to him, allowing him to simply ignore the girl's expression, in favour of getting the job done.

 

There hadn't been time to find new clothes, and they had returned to Dean's place and watched movies all evening with an enormous greasy pizza to share between them. Dean had called his technically gifted friend, and arranged for her to help them sort out his laptop on Tuesday. 

 

“Heya Cuz'” Gabe gabbled down the line. Dean turned around to wait for him. They had walked in together from Dean's apartment, as they both had the same lecture first thing in the morning. Cas waved Dean on, mouthing that he would catch up.

 

He felt a surge of affection, warmth and relief due to his cousins phone call. He had spent the entire night and morning dwelling on how to hide his handwriting from Dean if they sat next to each other. He had decided to note take on his phone, but he knew that the lie would be obvious. Handwritten notes were obviously easier to take. And, now, thanks to Gabriel's timely phone call, he would be late in, and able to sit in a different seat. 

 

For once he was over the moon that Gabe had called.

 

“Gabriel. It's good to hear from you.” He said warmly.

 

-

 

Dean felt an inexplicable feeling of disappointment fill his chest when, five minutes in to the lecture, Castiel slipped in and sat right on the edge of the auditorium, despite his catching Dean's eye, where he sat next to Benny near the middle of the room. He had wanted to introduce his newest friend to his other, still very new friends. 

 

He sighed and turned his attention to Chuck's hungover features and raspy voice.

 

-

 

Castiel opened the door to Dean's apartment and found himself under instant attack. His body tensed instantly, expecting claw-like fingernails pressing in to his skin, or the smash of a wine glass ready to cut him.

 

It took a moment for the sound of deep earthy laughter to register in his ears, and a moment longer to comprehend the 'squeeeing' noise filtering through. 

 

Still immobile, the human that had been launched at him, untangled itself and landed on it's feet before him.

 

“Castiel right?!” It asked, and Castiel nodded his head dumbly. “Hi! I'm Charlie!” The red headed whirlwind announced and Castiel, wide eyed and terrified, nodded again. 

 

Charlie, though, did not seem perturbed by his inability to respond, she just grabbed his wrist and bumped her fist against his limp fingers. “There! Besties now!” 

 

“Oi!” He heard Dean yell from the kitchen “Sorry! Sorry!” Charlie replied with a conspiratorial wink back in Castiel's direction. 

 

“Cas! This is my nerd friend I told you about, she's gonna help with your laptop.” Dean called, his head practically inside the fridge.

 

“Nerd?! You're the nerd.” Charlie responded. 

 

“Wha?!” Dean exclaimed, standing straight and looming, from across the room, in Charlie's direction. “Well. Nerd in training at the very least.”

 

“That's better.” Dean agreed and inclined his head before throwing a drinks can at Castiel, who still stood bewildered in the open door way. On instinct he caught the can, plucking it from the air where Dean's terrible throw had sent it sailing over his shoulder.

 

“Nice.” Charlie stated, a touch of awe in her voice. 

 

Castiel unstuck and looked at the can in his hand. It was beer. He looked up at the room he had forgotten would hold someone other than Dean that evening and he shrugged, figuring that alcohol was supposed to help with most people's social anxiety, why shouldn't work on him? 

 

As he cracked open the tab and took the first foamy swig, he realised that Charlie's presence wasn't making him uptight and worried though.

 

Maybe it was that he had forgotten over the course of the day, a random pop quiz and advanced mathematics classes all day would do that to you. Or perhaps it was the fact that she seemed completely disinterested in his failure to talk or respond at all. She was sitting on the floor already, a beer in her own hand, her face two inches from the screen of a laptop, and what Castiel assumed to be his own broken one, spread out in bits on the floor surrounding her, wires and cables everywhere. 

 

Dean was relaxed and perched up on the stool at the breakfast bar, playing with his phone. Castiel noticed the oven was on. He eyed it with a little trepidation. Dean had yet to make a move in the kitchen that wasn't re-heating left overs or filling the coffee machine, beside the time Castiel had got him making omelettes. 

 

He stepped in to the room, acutely aware for a moment as he dropped his bag to it's regular position by the end of the sofa, of his clothing, much more formal than Dean's, and Charlie… Well, Castiel had to admit that Charlie appeared to be wearing pyjama pants with small yellow dungarees wearing pill-like beings all over them and a hoodie with a dragon on it. Even he was aware that that wasn't regular attire. 

 

“I- er,” He began, not entirely sure what he wanted to say. 

 

Charlie looked up at him briefly, before being completely reabsorbed by the computer in front of her. Dean looked up expectantly, placing his phone on the counter top, and looking at him with complete attention. 

 

He tugged at the trench coat that he was still wearing, which still felt awful since his short stint homeless, despite it having been washed. Dean raised an unimpressed eyebrow, which quickly morphed in to amusement. “Dude, you don't need to ask to shower or to use my room to change. It's cool. Dinner is in the oven, we got beer, and Charlie is a genius that'll have you a newish laptop by the end of the night.”

 

“End of Lord of the Rings I think you'll find!” Charlie chipped in from the floor. “Oh yeah, we're watching Lord of the rings, while she's doing that. It's a form of taxation.”

 

“It's your fee dumbass.” Charlie piped up again. Castiel had to smother a laugh. “Okay. Thank you. Both.” He nodded and grabbed up the small pile of things laid out on the top of the duffle neatly pushed against the wall near Dean's work table. He didn't want to get changed in the cramped shower room if he didn't have to, and for once, he allowed his curiosity to flourish, so he stepped in to Dean's room and closed the door behind him, looking around the neat space he had yet to enter.

 

With a hint of worry about Dean's antics in the kitchen he quickly stripped out of his day clothes, folding up his slacks, shirt and jacket. He looked at the tidily piled, and extremely boring clothing wit a frown, and then happily shook out the soft pyjama pants that Dean had given him on the first night he had spent there. He pulled on one of his own running t-shirts, a neat navy blue polo shirt that Meg had decided was acceptable for exercise. He slipped on the fluffy hoodie that Dean had leant him too, hoping that neither Dean nor Charlie would take it amiss he was basically dressed for bed already.

 

Once they went shopping he could be himself, who ever that turned out to be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a million percent happy with this chapter :( But here it is anyway. Probably take a little break now until after Christmas. Have a lovely one beautiful readers :) X

Dean watched as Castiel moved slowly back in to the living room, picking his way carefully over the mess that Charlie had made. Dean was worried and excited about his cooking extravaganza. Well, less of an extravaganza, and more of a pack of ingredients and basic instructions, but nonetheless, he had made it all himself, and with any luck his friends would be able to eat it. 

 

He just really wanted Cas to feel well cared for.

 

He scooted across the room himself and handed both Cas and Charlie another beer, before heading back to dish up the food. Charlie had been the one to suggest he start with something simple, after he had mentioned he felt bad that Castiel had either done all the cooking, or he had bought food in or gone out to eat. 

 

From the oven he pulled the dish, letting forth an amazing smelling gush of steam. He groaned deep in his throat, just hoping it tasted as good as it smelled. 

 

He dished up generous portions, knowing Cas' appetite and not wanting to short change his underfed friend. Handing Charlie her bowl where she still sat on the floor, and passing Castiel his next to him on the sofa, Dean started up the DVD. He dug in to the mass of cheesy, spicy enchilada, moaning around the first mouthful. He grinned with pride once he swallowed, looking up to make sure his friends were enjoying their food too. 

 

Charlie had her head down, shovelling the food in, and Castiel- Well, Castiel had his eyes shut, face tilted to the ceiling, chewing slowly with an almost rapturous expression on his face.

 

Dean wanted to say something witty, some tart rejoiner, he wanted to laugh at his new friend. His first real attempt at cooking really wasn't worth that blissful expression- But. Dean couldn't say a word. Castiel looked… 

 

Dean swallowed hard and turned back to his own bowl of cheesy meaty spicy goodness, and focused on the television screen. 

 

-

 

Castiel was hyper aware, as he took his post lunch seat in Chuck's lecture on Thursday, that he had to ensure Dean would never see his hand writing. Dean had never mentioned the notes to him, and he had never brought them up. They talked, they laughed, but they never touched the heavier, deeper aspects of their lives. 

 

Dean knew he had been in a difficult relationship, knew he had left for various reasons, only one of them being the final physical assault resulting in the scabs which still ringed his neck and his still bruised hand. At least he felt confident enough now to leave Dean's apartment without his scarf tied neatly and tightly around his throat. His voice was no longer horse and he could swallow with ease.

 

In return, Castiel never brought up Dean's brother, who he had mentioned in passing to Castiel, since that night he had been upset over his cancelling of plans, but never spoken of more fully since then. Nor did he bring up any other thing he was curious about. Why Dean was at school now, rather than already in work, why he never mentioned his parents, where he had come from.

 

Their friendship was one of carefully avoided subjects, and Castiel was more than aware by now, that Dean would not appreciate knowing that it was, in actual fact, Castiel, who had written him those notes. 

 

Castiel was certain that Dean would believe it a betrayal. Despite how little he knew of this man, even now, he could still tell that much. His knowledge he had built up of his friend had grown exponentially, and he could tell that his self worth had grown, his confidence, even his happiness, since he had written that first note on the first day of term. But the man was still fragile, he could see it sometimes in the blustering way he reacted to Castiel's poor reactions, or to the way he had been destroyed by the simple fact that his brother could not visit. 

 

Dean was improving, and Castiel was happy, so fucking relieved that the man, his friend, felt even a tiny bit better. But, if Dean knew he had been the one to say those intrusive words, whether they had been the catalyst behind his improvement or not, Dean would never forgive him. 

 

So, knowing Dean would very likely be late, as he was most Thursday's, Castiel took his early seat in his usual spot, up high, on the edge, at the far side of auditorium. Dean would notice, so too, maybe, would Charlie when she walked in. Castiel would have to pass the faux pas off as just that, rather than an intentional choice in order to hide his distinctive handwriting. 

 

He shook his head, then let it drop on to the pile of books on his knee, his carefully cellotaped, ripped and scarred books. He was damned and doomed. 

 

When he looked up, it was to catch the tiny hint of disappointment on Dean's face as he sat close to the door, a smudge of oil on his cheek and Chuck's opening words filling the room.

 

Castiel decided not to analyse the matching sinking feeling in his own gut.

 

-

 

Castiel awoke groggy and stiff. As grateful as he was, and he _really_ fucking was, Dean's sofa was about two foot too short for him to lie on comfortably, and after nine nights spent curled up, his back, neck, shoulders and legs were all beginning to protest.

 

He groaned as he contorted himself in to a stretch, still horizontal on the couch, eyes refusing to open yet. 

 

“Mornin' princess.” Dean huffed out from across the room, clearly standing in the kitchen, if the smell of omelette cooking was anything to go by. Castiel just made inarticulate noises as a response, his mouth still closed until he yawned, huge and jaw-cracking. 

 

“You're cooking.” Castiel finally grunted out, having rolled in to a more upright position. 

 

“You are, as ever, my friend, extremely observant.” Dean countered. 

 

“It's Saturday.” Castiel stated around another huge yawn.

 

“Nothin' gets past you does it?” Dean answered with amusement clear in his voice.

 

“It's early?” Castiel had to question this. It was deep in to Autumn now, the light pale and watery. It was difficult to tell if it was early, or just over cast. Turning his head to the side to look out the window seemed a monumental effort at that moment. 

 

“It sure is sugar.” Dean responded with too much gusto as he shimmied across the room and put a mug of strong black coffee in Castiel's limp hand, and put a plate of cheese and mushroom omelette on his, still blanket covered, knees. 

 

Castiel forced his heavily lidded gaze from vacantly staring at the offerings and up to meet Dean's, surprisingly nervous, gaze. He grunted his thanks before actually making his face obey his emotions, and smiled at Dean.

 

The other man's face broke in to a smile and he scampered off to retrieve his own breakfast.

 

“What's all this for?” He asked around a huge mouthful, looking to his friend sitting next to him on the sofa, ass planted squarely on Castiel's pillow. He pulled a face. Dean wriggled and grinned. “You're gross.”

 

“Yup!” Dean's grin widened. “We're goin' shoppin' today!” He announced after taking a gulp of his coffee. 

 

Castiel blinked.

 

“And this necessitates breakfast before I'm even awake?” Dean's gleeful expression faltered a little, but he rallied, smiling again and staring intently at Castiel's bemused and sleep heavy face. 

 

“Er, yeah?” He shrugged. “You said you had to go to the library today, so I figured we could get an early start. Get you what ever you want over at the mall, then stop for lunch at that waffle place there, my treat, and then I can drop you off at the library. I need to get a load of work done too, and to be honest with you, it's a bit easier using the drawing board when you're not here. There isn't really enough room, plus I like to, kinda, up the volume when I'm working. I don't really wanna piss you off.” Dean's face had become almost comically earnest. 

 

“You are a very thoughtful man, Dean Winchester.” Castiel stated, taking another bite of the very well made omelette, in order to hide his smile.

 

“What? No! I just- Well, you said- and I- Oh, fuck you! You're a complete fucker you know that?!” Dean finally got out, squinting angrily at Castiel's rapidly failing deadpan face. 

 

“I have half a mind to throw my coffee in your face.” Dean groused. “Only it'd ruin my own fucking sofa.” Castiel merely winked at Dean before chowing down on the rest of his breakfast around a wide grin. 

 

It did not escape his notice that two weeks ago he would have been the one cooking, and he would genuinely be in fear of scolding coffee to the face. 

 

-

 

Last time Castiel had found him self in a shopping centre, he had nearly had a panic attack, and got a tongue lashing from Meg about standing straight and looking 'normal'. Castiel froze as he stepped out of the Impala and looked up at the towering building. 

 

He felt Dean's hand touch his elbow, squeeze gently and nudge him toward the doors. 

 

“Let's get a coffee first huh? Ease you in to this.” Dean turned back to him and winked, a soft smile on his face, seeming to understand Castiel's hesitance.

 

Despite all the time they had spent together since Dean had taken him off the streets, they had not really discussed many of Castiel's or Dean's failings as humans. Dean seemed to understand and accept Castiel's ineptitude, and in turn, Castiel knew that his presence, somehow, helped bolster Dean's mood. It was a situation that neither of them dwelt on, purposefully, in case their acknowledgement burst the bubble. But, for all that Dean seemed astonishingly accepting and understanding that Castiel had issues with crowds, and humans, and conversation, and- Well, the list went on, he had never told Dean more about Meg than he had had to. He had never mentioned that the reason he had never left, until she had told him he was as good as dead already, was because he wasn't able to face these things alone. 

 

Dean- Dean didn't need to be told. He just knew. 

 

When he had brought his friend Charlie over, he had told Castiel in advance, but he had forgotten until being all but body slammed by the chirpy red head. But spending time in her company hadn't been full of the pressure of any other meeting he had ever had. When he had been introduced to people while he was with Meg, there had always been the expectation that he was something more than he was, something better. He was introduced as an accountant, or Meg's partner, or 'up-and-coming', or any other title. But Dean had told Charlie is actual name. He had been expected to be… Castiel, (who ever that actually was,) for the first time in his life.

 

No, Castiel corrected himself, remembering the reason they were standing in the queue for coffee at the dreadful and packed coffee shop, it was the first time that interaction had been simple and he had been himself _since_ he had hung out with the skaters that one summer. Back when he had last picked out his own clothes, back when people had liked him. 

 

He sighed deeply, and felt Dean's elbow just gently nudge him in the ribs. It wasn't a cruel action, nor a reminder that they were at the front of the queue. It was just Dean reminding him that he wasn't alone.

 

-

 

Dean dropped like a stone in to the chair in front of his drawing board. With an exhausted sigh, he caressed the smooth white surface and apologised to it under his breath. He hadn't had a chance to work at home since taking Castiel in. 

 

He didn't regret it, not one bit, but he missed cranking 'Zep up to eleven and sinking in to that zone he found when drafting. He'd been keeping up with his work in class, but he did love designing new machinery, tweaking engine schematics. It was a part of the course he did for love, not for grades. 

 

It was only two in the afternoon. He had spent all morning drifting from store to store, keeping within sight of Castiel as he picked out new clothes. The guy's new bank cards, and a surprisingly large deposit, refunding the money that Meg had stolen, had appeared the day before, so Dean hadn't had to fork out the money to provide the man with clothes that he actually liked _._ Dean was grateful, and a little sad that he hadn't actually been able to help. But seeing Castiel's alarmed, then calmed expression every time he began to panic, and sought Dean out, was reward enough. 

 

He knew that the man had anxiety, and he knew it was linked to his relationship with his ex. He hadn't been able to determine to what degree. But, the man needed someone there in situations where there were many people. He had noted Castiel's terror when he met Charlie, but just as Dean had expected, Charlie, being who she was, caused little alarm once the surprise of finding someone other than Dean in their home, wore off. 

 

_ His  _ home. 

 

Dean shook his head, and focused on his work. He had a project to finish by the end of the next week, and, selfish as it was, he hoped that Castiel would stay at the library late. He had told him to call when he wanted collecting, but the guy was, considering the issues he had, stubborn and determined to be independent, so he expected him to walk through the door of his own accord some point later in the day. Hopefully with the stuff for dinner.

 

Dean grinned at the thought. Castiel's cooking was amazing. Every new meal he made killed and resurrected Dean's taste buds in new and interesting ways. The only way Castiel could make it better was if he made pie. 

 

The thought of shopping bags sent his mind on a tangent thinking about what Castiel had bought. His numerous bags were in the  trunk  of Baby, Dean had left them there rather than poke through the guy ' s stuff. Plus, he realised that there wasn't anywhere to put the new  things , unless he made room in his own closet- And that was all levels of weird to think of as an option. Maybe he could pick up a small set of drawers to put at the end of the sofa. The guy was still living out of the duffel bags of stuff he had rescued from his old apartment. 

 

Dean screwed his ear buds in to his ears, trying to drown out his too-loud thoughts and get some proper work done. He had purposefully paid no attention to what Castiel was buying when they were out, and he was interested to find out what the guy had actually decided on. The first few shops they had gone through, Castiel had looked all kinds of terrified, touching suit jackets and shirts just like the things he already owned, clearly not knowing what he wanted. Dean browsed far enough away to give the guy privacy, and hung back when the other man disappeared in to the changing rooms. 

 

It had taken three or four shops before Castiel had actually bought anything. The bag had been tiny, but the look of achievement on the man's face had been adorable and amazing. No- not adorable. Anyway- By the end of it, Castiel had had arms full of bags full of things including a couple of pairs of shoes and a new coat. 

 

Dean shrugged and finally drew his first line with the straight edge attached to the edge of the board on a slide. He figured he'd find out in due time. Dude was allowed his privacy.

 

After that Dean didn't look up until it was too dark to be able to see properly and he switched the bright light on that pointed directly at the board.

 

The next time he looked up was at the completely unexpected smell of cooking meat filling the apartment.

 

-

 

Castiel looked up from his books when the terrifyingly toad like woman who ruled the library leant over him and cleared her throat in the most aggressively, passive-aggressive way possible. Time to leave. The library was closing.

 

Castiel felt good. He had achieved the morning's goals without having a melt down and had bought clothes that actually appealed to him. The things he had picked were nothing like the last time he had chosen his other things, but at Twenty-seven it wasn't surprising his tastes were a little different that what they had been at fifteen in the early 2000's when backwards caps were still just about cool, not ironic.

 

Then lunch with Dean had been fun and completely sickly and sticky, with syrup smeared half way across his face. Then, hours ago now, Dean had dropped him off at the library, where Castiel could get his homework done finally, without fear of Dean seeing his hand written notes. 

 

And now, seemingly, it was past seven in the evening, and he had over stayed his welcome, learning the ins and outs of tax codes and what constitutes evasion rather than avoidance.

 

On his walk home, which despite Dean's insistence that he call for a lift, he rather enjoyed, he dropped in to the small supermarket which was only a little out of his way, and stayed open all night. 

 

With groceries bought, and the panic subsiding from the scarily coy smiles of the pink lipped woman behind the counter, Castiel strolled home.

 

To Dean's home. _Dean's_ home.

 

He walked up to the front door and fumbled his key in to the lock. The still-shiny, non blood stained key still made him smile every time he saw it. It was like a small physical token of Dean's trust, despite the fact that Castiel assumed it was actually for the sake of Dean's own convenience.

 

Within, Castiel had to stifle a laugh. Dean was hunched over his drawing board, singing along loudly to the head phones in his ears, skipping half the words when ever his pencil scratched the surface of his paper. The room was dark, just the one pool of light pouring over Dean and his work. The man didn't look up, nor seem to notice Castiel's entrance. 

 

He couldn't see his bags of clothes anywhere, so he scooped up Dean's keys in their dish by the door and quietly left the room again, leaving the food shopping by the door. 

 

When he entered again, he hung up his old, much washed trench coat next to Dean's on the back of the door and toed his ruined water stained dress shoes off his feet and placed them neatly next to Dean's heavy boots.

 

He left the clothing bags where they were, and still stifling a smile at Dean's off key, half mumbled singing, he crept in to the kitchen. How Dean didn't notice him putting things away in cupboards and boiling water, he didn't know. He was hardly being quiet. Admittedly, he didn't turn the overhead light on, working in the reflected light of Dean's powerful angle poise. 

 

It wasn't until the potato wedges were browning in the oven and the steaks were cooked to perfection on the first side that Dean looked up, sniffing the air like a particularly keen dog. 

 

Castiel laughed aloud as Dean dropped the pencil to his knees and twirled around in the chair, eyes wide with surprise and anticipation.

 

“Dude!” He announced, pulling the head phones from his ears. “You're like a fuckin' ninja! What the hell?!” Alarm faded from his expression to be replaced once more with the salivating expression of a hungry puppy. “Are you cooking steak?” Castiel nodded, biting his lip to avoid smiling that the ridiculous man in front of him. “Hells yeah!” Dean grinned and jumped up, only to almost fall, and turn the movement in to a bone cracked stretch, revealing the line of dark hair tapering from his belly button in to the waist band of his jeans.

 

Castiel swallowed. Then frowned. Then turned back to the steaks. Over cooked steak was a travesty.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us all pretend that the police and university admins behave this way. Please?
> 
> This story has been so hard to write! Thank you to every one for staying with me! Might be another little wait until the next chapter comes out, but it will get there! I promise!

Dean groaned quietly to him self as he awoke. It _felt_ too early. He didn't have a stupidly early lecture, so why was it still dark out?

 

He curled in to a ball under the covers and tried valiantly to fall back to sleep, determined to awake when the infernal bleeping of his phone's alarm woke him up at seven thirty. It took a few moments of him screwing his eyes shut and thinking sleepy thoughts for the sound of the shower in the room adjacent to filter in to his brain.

 

Castiel was showering, that was what had woken him up. What the hell was he doing up so early? He groaned again and rolled on to his other side. He would have to wait now, even if he did want to get up, in order to give Cas time to change in the living room.

 

It was the week before the short break, seguing in to the winter proper. They had no exams, but once they returned it would be full on all the way until they broke for Christmas.

 

That thought soured his mood. He couldn't see Sam during his break, and he had almost no doubt that his brother would find an excuse to avoid seeing him during Christmas and Thanksgiving too. He sat up, wrapping a jumper around him immediately as the cold air of the room struck. He ran his hands through his hair, that old feeling of total inadequacy filling him from the inside out. If Sam decided to stay at his school for the holiday, he wouldn't want Dean there. He had his own friends and his girlfriend. Dean hadn't even met her, as if Sam was ashamed of his useless brother and didn't want them to meet. Why _would_ Sam want them to meet? Dean had nothing to bring to their cosy little world.

 

The sound of the shower cutting off pulled him from his thoughts, a grim expression on his face. He looked up at the door, a sudden urge to go out there and speak to Cas. There was something about him that calmed Dean's swirling thoughts. But, he would be changing, and that would be rude.

 

He pulled himself up, then, and decided to forgo a shower, pulling on fresh clothes and running his hands through his hair. He purposefully made more noise than he needed to, banging his drawers shut, so that Castiel had enough warning before he came out of his room. He needed a coffee, and Castiel's friendly face, then hopefully, they'd walk in together to school and they could sit in Chuck's Monday morning class together. He smiled at the thought.

 

He pushed his way out of the room, startling Cas in to standing straight and twirling on the spot to face him. Dean noted Cas' surprised expression melting in to greeting even as he stopped short, mouth hanging open mid-step.

 

This-

 

This was the broken and haggard looking man he had rescued less than two weeks ago?

 

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting down and taking in the man's changed appearance.

 

His hair was the same, a ragged mess and slightly damp, and the stubble on his jaw clearly un-shaven from the day before. He wore a dark grey shirt with a charcoal coloured skinny tie. Over that he wore a form fitting golden-brown tweed waistcoat. A pair of snug jeans sat at his hips with a brown leather belt just showing under the waistcoat. He wore brown leather boots. In his hand was a coat, a dark khaki-green material.

 

Castiel spread his arms as if asking whether it was okay, if Dean approved, a half smile on his worried face.

 

All Dean could do was swallow again, thickly, and nod. He had never noticed the man's broad shoulders before, nor his toned arms. His thighs were thicker than he had imagined too. His flat stomach accentuated by the tight waistcoat.

 

He cleared his throat, Castiel clearly expecting an answer, an opinion. “I, um, I have to-” He pointed to the bathroom, and Cas' face crumpled. “No! No, dude. You look awesome. You, er- Yeah.”

 

He bolted, locking the door behind himself, but not before he had noticed Castiel's beaming smile.

 

He leant his hands on the basin and glared at his reflection in the mirror, not least at the beginnings of a bulge in his oil stained and torn jeans. “We're straight.” He told his crotch. “You do get that right? You are not well known for getting excited about men in nice clothes.” He paused and looked himself in the eye. “Or men at all for that matter.”

 

“Oh Jesus,” he muttered and hung his head, willing the pulsing fire in his groin to go away. “What the fuck?”

 

His brain helpfully supplied the image of a young police officer who had taken him in once, caught drinking too young when his dad had been away. He had shamelessly flirted his way out of that, and thought nothing about how easy it had been. Then it decided to remind him of that time he had had a “gay thing” with some guy in a bar. He had totally panicked and fumbled his words, tripped over his feet, and practically run off. But those had just been- incidents. One-offs. Nothing to even think twice over.

 

He thought about Castiel out there, looking Jesus-fucking-hot-tall-strong-built-god-damn-it! “Okay.” He breathed the words out, a little more high pitched than usual, glaring once more at his cock that was, far too slowly, taking the hint and calming down. “Now is not the time. Piss, go out there, say mornin' tell him he looks great, go to school, learn some shit, then call Charlie and have a melt down later. Right?”

 

His reflection nodded, a grim set to his mouth, eyes a little shell shocked. “Right.”

 

-

 

“Mr. Novak?” Called a secretary as he walked through the corridor of offices before breaking out in to the quad by their lecture hall. He had been gripping his palms repeatedly, sweating and flinching at every movement, his only respite, Dean's calming presence next to him, chattering on about some film or other that he wanted to watch with him. Since Dean's strange reaction to his new attire, Castiel had begun to feel less and less confident with his new choice of clothes. For the first time in his life, people's eyes were on him, and he couldn't make out their expressions. It was too much, especially on that unrepentant fear that in just a few minutes, Dean would see his hand writing, when he sat next to him taking notes, and then, who knew what would happen.

 

It was a relief when the grey looking woman called to him and asked him to follow her in to an office.

 

He looked a little pleadingly at Dean, hoping that the relief at missing the start of Chuck's lecture wouldn't show under the fear at the unknown, at this new summons.

 

Dean just shrugged and patted him on the shoulder. “I'll see you in there man.” He said lowly with a warm smile before he turned and continued to the theatre.

 

“Um. What- Er, Why?” The woman, who's steel grey hair was bundled at the back of her head, turned slightly and shot him a smile, which warmed her to Castiel a little. “Don't worry Mr. Novak, you're not in trouble. We just need to go over your funding for the next semester.”

 

It felt like cold water doused his spine as he followed her, wondering in panic what had happened. He had been certain that his money issues were sorted.

 

For the first time, he found himself wanting Meg back, so that she could take care of it for him.

 

He nearly choked as he realised that it was her fault he was in this position in the first place.

 

“Please, take a seat Mr. Novak.” The woman said, indicating a seat opposite her at the desk. He sat down gingerly, gripping his bag against his chest, both hands in fists, knuckles white.

 

“We had a notification from your bank, and the police that your funds had been appropriated, er- Castiel. Now, as I'm sure you're aware, there is plenty of time yet for your funding to be sent to the university for the next semester, but we're waving that deadline for you, whilst your circumstances are dealt with. Now, I'm only informing you, because I got the impression from the bank that you are no longer at your registered address? Because the system is automated, letters will be sent out warning you of being in default. For some ridiculous reason, we cannot prevent those being sent from the central office, but you will not be kicked out so don't worry about that. So, as I said, I want to just warn you to ignore those letters, we'll send you some to clarify from the office here, but we do need you to update your current address if at all possible, Mr. Novak.”

 

Castiel leant back in the chair, eyes wide in surprise at the abrupt and wholly unanticipated announcement. “I- Wha? Er, Sure?” He answered, and rattled off Dean's address, warning that it would only be temporary.

 

“Thank you Mr. Novak, Castiel.” The grey woman smiled again, softening her features and warming Castiel a little, “you may go, that was all that needed to be attended to.”

 

“Oh. Thank you. Wait. Did you mention the police had been in touch?”

 

She levelled a look at him over her steel rimmed glasses, “yes Castiel, I believe they take fraud rather seriously.”

 

He swallowed hard and nodded, edging out of the room. He didn't breathe until he flew through the door in to the cold of the quad, gulping in a frigid mouthful of air and trying to calm himself.

 

This was exactly as Dean had warned, that the problem had been taken out of his hands.

 

There was nothing he could do now. It would only be a matter of time until the police wanted to talk to him.

 

He spent fifteen minutes in the quad staring up at the clear blue sky, air cold and breath clouding in plumes above him.

 

It was strange he thought, as he watched his breath condense in the air, that instead of panic, all he could think about was the fact that he knew Dean would be there, would help him, would make sure that it was all okay.

 

“Shit.” He whispered before he pushed himself back up, and walked slowly toward the lecture hall and Dean's undoubtedly interesting gaze.

 

-

Castiel stood still staring at the now closed bathroom door, wondering if he had done something wrong. He ran his hands over his belly, feeling the slightly rough texture of the material that fitted him properly.

 

He shrugged and decided that, even if Dean didn't like how he looked, he did. He hadn't realised how much he had hated those baggy and ill fitting shirts and ugly slacks.

 

He found the grey beanie he had bought and slung it on the back of the sofa with his new coat and a soft grey scarf he had purchased too. He smiled at the mix of textures and muted colours, grinning at the lining of the coat, paisley patterns in navy blue and black.

 

He marched over to the coffee machine, back straight, and made enough for the both of them. Maybe Dean had just needed to pee. He threw a pile of bread in to the toaster and grabbed the butter from the fridge, poking it with a knife to soften some enough to spread.

 

He heard the toilet flush and, moments later, the door unlock. Dean's pale face poked out, followed by the rest of his, body taught and strained. “You okay?” He questioned, straightening and facing his friend. “You look a little ill.”

 

Dean shook his head and plastered a rictus of a smile on his face. “I'm fine, buddy. Just not really woken up yet. You- You, er, look great by the way.” He offered Cas a slightly softer, more genuine smile. “That look really suits you.” He nodded as if he had completed a nasty job, but his expression was still soft, although a little like a wounded animal.

 

Castiel grinned, “thanks Dean. I think, maybe, I feel like me? I don't know. I've never really known what that feels like.” He trailed off, realising that maybe that was a huge over share, especially given Dean's still off mood since he'd walked in that morning. But, Dean's face broke in to a sunny smile, finally, matching the sun rising in the pale blue sky outside.

 

“That's awesome, buddy!” He announced and slapped Cas on the shoulder, he before freezing up a little, but lowering his arm with a jerky movement. “That coffee?!” He asked brightly, inanely, because, what else would it be? Castiel simply nodded, and stepped aside to pick up two mugs from the draining board. “Are you sure you're okay, Dean?”

 

Dean deflated and huffed out a breath, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “Yeah, man. Just, I dunno. Didn't expect you to look so completely different this morning. It kinda threw me?” He spoke the last like a question, as if worried of Castiel's response. He simply shrugged and handed Dean a knife and a plate, nodding in the direction of the popped toaster. In fairness to Dean, it threw him too when he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror before going to find his coat to pull the tags off, which is when Dean had come out of his room.

 

-

 

Dean was scowling. He could feel Benny and Charlie looking at him from the corner's of their eyes as they took notes on Chuck's lecture. Dean couldn't be annoyed. Or at least, he shouldn't be.

 

He ought to be happy that when Cas walked in to the lecture hall, half an hour late after being called in to the finance office, every head whipped about to stare at him as if he had never existed before. He ought to feel pleased that most of the women and a good number of the men, including Chuck kept their eyes on Castiel's newly visible trim figure and broad shoulders. He ought not to have a painful curl in his stomach that, yet again, Cas sat on the other side of the hall from him. He ought not to care that this person, who he had only known two weeks, was suddenly on everyone else's radar, and he hadn't made it clear to everyone that he was Dean's friend.

 

Because that's all that he was. Because they were both straight. And Dean did not, in any way, get flustered that morning after seeing him dressed so well, showing off just how nice a dark shirt off sets that permanent stubble gracing his cheek.

 

“Brother, you're grinding your teeth.” Benny whispered, without taking him eyes from Chuck, but leaning in to his body a little, the warmth of his solid bulk brought Dean back to the room proper. He huffed out an irritated sigh, and refocused on Chuck, realising he had no idea what the man was talking about.

 

He opened his jaw wide, loosening the clamped muscles and cracking it loudly in the quiet of the room while he glared at his blank page a moment. “You wanna grab a beer tonight?” He asked Benny under his breath, choosing at the last second to trust Benny with this rather than Charlie

 

Benny, never known to say no to any invite from Dean, looked at him intently for a few seconds before nodding. “Sure Brother, anything.”

 

Dean was fairly certain he had a half smile on his lips when he turned back to Chuck.

 

Dean scowled again.

 

-

 

_Hey man, I'm gonna hang with Benny tonight ill_ _try n be quiet when I come bk_ _._

 

Castiel stared at the text message on his phone, and tried to battle down the disappointment that he could unaccountably feel. “It's just because I wanted to talk to him about the police thing.” He said out loud to the empty apartment.

 

Suddenly he felt all itchy and irritable, he didn't want to cook, nor shower or watch TV.

 

He froze and glared at his bed-come-sofa.

 

He could work at- well, not home, but his current residence, rather than hide in the library, or push himself in class every day. If Dean didn't come home until late, he could revise. He could get his notes out.

 

Still antsy, he fell to the seat and pulled his bag toward him, ignoring his growling belly. He fished through his bag, pulling out all of his note books, some filled with columns of numbers, others written notes on the tax system and allowable expenses for the self employed, along with a few of his heavy reference books.

 

He settled back in to the cushions, and slipped in to reading, scribbling notes almost as fast as he absorbed the facts.

 

-

 

“So, what's up, brother? You been lookin' like your favourite dog bit you in the balls all day.”

 

Dean snorted in to his beer, sending a wave of foam over the edge. “That's your assessment of my mental state? Screw you. I don't even have a favourite dog.” His sentence trailed of, mumbled in to his beer as Benny started laughing loudly in the bar.

 

“Oh boy,” he said, taking a bite of his greasy pizza, eyes not leaving Dean.

 

“Tell me.”

 

Dean sighed, not even sure where to start.

 

“It's, er, Cas?”

 

Benny did not look surprised. Dean didn't know if that annoyed him or not.

 

“I-” he swallowed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, hoping for a magical interjection, to prevent him having to spill his guts.

 

But, nothing came, and he needed to talk to someone about this. His little brother would laugh at him, if he even picked up the phone. And he was confused. As hell.

 

“I think I might- I, um.”

 

“You _like_ him, brother. Jeez, it's hard to watch you squirm! You like him. I never met him, so I can't tell ya if he likes ya back. But it's good. We're cool. I won't judge ya. It don't reflect on ya in anyway. You're still Dean. Wanna swap a slice?”

 

Dean blinked.

 

“I-,” he tried again, automatically sliding a slice of his peperoni to Benny's plate in exchange for a slice of his barbecue chicken.

 

“But I'm straight!” He all but wailed, determined to write off his morning's reaction as nothing more than morning wood.

 

Benny snorted. “And? Straight ain't a one time only offer. You're allowed to be flexible. And if you like the guy, who cares what you are?”

 

Benny chewed for a while, thoughtfully staring at the ceiling, “apart from, maybe, homophobic assholes, but who's countin'?”

 

“Yeah, thanks for that buddy.” He mumbled, taking his own bite and washing it down with his beer. Benny stilled, watching him a moment, “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

 

“What? What do I have to do about it?” Benny laughed, “Really? You're gonna sit back and watch him get plucked up by some other guy- or girl, and leave you in the dust? I ain't blind. He might not have a clue how good he looked today, but let me tell you, no one else missed it. He's gonna get hit on left right and centre pretty soon.”

 

Dean laughed slightly at the thought of Castiel being hit on. He would probably just turn and walk away, confused and bewildered, or worse yet, plain scared. That thought sobered him. He couldn't let Castiel get hurt, not again, especially by people looking for anything relationship based, whether genuine or not. He had to protect his- friend? Crush?

 

That thought made him thump his head on the table, narrowly missing the pizza. “Oh God.” He moaned.

 

-

 

 

Castiel froze as he heard a key scrape in the lock.

 

No. Dean was meant to be out all night. He said he would be quiet when he came home, meaning that he thought Castiel would be asleep. It's only half eight. No!

 

“Hey dude,” came Dean's voice, subdued and quiet. He couldn't answer, only swallow and pivot where he sat to see Dean close the door behind him. “I, um, wanted to talk- oh, hey you workin'?”

 

Castiel couldn't even nod, and watched in fascinated horror and Dean perched on the arm of the sofa and picked up a sheet of thickly written notes.

 

He couldn't move as he watched Dean chew on his lip, and run a hand through his hair as he read, a frown forming on his face. Couldn't breathe as he saw Dean's eyes widen and look up to meet his own. Couldn't think as Dean dropped the sheet of paper.

 

“You.” He stated, eyes round, voice dark.

 

Castiel blinked, completely numb. No sensations.

 

He simply jumped up and ran out the door.

 

Full blown panic descended as he ran down the stairs, stomach pummelling panic. Dean-

 

That was as far as his thoughts got before they stalled on the matter. He pushed through the front doors of the building and out in to the street, oblivious to the cold air and his lack of layers, just his new shirt and waistcoat between him and the almost-winter air.

 

Without any thought he fished in his pocket for his phone, quickly smashing through the menu with fumbling fingers, all but running down the street, feet pounding hard, head repeatedly flung over his shoulder terrified of hearing angry foot steps behind him. “Pick up, pick u- Gabe! Can you come and get me? Please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Castiel's outfit](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/a7/71/16/a7711647695b2abc9d6b292a22b809a0.jpg) (from [here](http://versatiletv.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/first-shooting-from-london.html).)
> 
> I would adore and love it if you wanted to come and shout at me about what I've done over on [Tumblr!](anonymousantonym.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel was shivering hard by the time that Gabe's cranky old car pulled up next to him on the steps of random block of apartments miles from Dean's home.

 

He had left, and after hanging up with Gabe, who had promised to call when he was close, had just walked, doing his best to avoid going anywhere that Dean might think to hunt him down.

 

It was bitterly cold, and Cas had left Dean's apartment without a jacket, let alone gloves or a scarf. He didn't even have his wallet. He was thankful that he had had his cell phone in his pocket.

 

He raised his eyes toward heaven, offering up general thanks that that had been the case, but finding, instead, tears in his eyes.

 

“Hey cuz', come on, get in out the cold.” Gabriels voice was soft, warmer than Castiel had ever heard it. “I'm glad you called me.”

 

Castiel forced himself to stand, too stiff and violently shivering to function properly. “Now, before I drive you back, who should I be beating up?”

 

That made Castiel's drawn lips crack in to a slight smile. “No- No one. M- Me.” He answered, teeth chattering too hard to speak properly. 

 

He lowered himself in to the car, blessedly warm, the heater pumping out hot air, and closed the door.

 

He sat in silence as Gabe turned the car and started back the way he had come, staring out the window at everything, he suddenly realised, he would probably never see again. He had absolutely no reason to return.

 

He had lost everything, just because of two ridiculous notes he had written. Just because he had thought he had seen someone who needed help. Just because no one would have ever helped _him_.

 

But he had been wrong. Dean _had_ helped him, and he had done nothing for the other man except betray his trust. 

 

Gabe did not comment when he silently wiped tears off his cheeks the for the whole journey.

 

-

 

“What can I get you? Cranberry? Soda? OJ? Coffee?” Gabe twisted the last word, with reason. It was two in the morning. He shook his head, his voice devoid of emotion, too tired when he answered. “Do you have beer?”

 

Gabe straightened and spun on the spot, staring at Castiel.

 

“Beer? Really?” Castiel nodded, wanting something harder, but not daring to ask. He almost laughed at himself. At how much Dean had changed him. 

 

Gabe raised his eyebrows but nodded his head, turning to the fridge and picking out two bottles. He opened them both, and passed Castiel one as he sat down next to him on his wide couch. Castiel idly wondered why on earth he hadn't found a way to call Gabe the minute he had walked out on Meg. Why did he think he would have been better off on the streets? And even relegated to a couch- at least he could have stretched out on his one.

 

Another wave of disbelief, disappointment and despondency flooded him as a took his first sip, the bitter flavour reminding him of Dean, of eating greasy food in a bar and drinking his first ever beer with him.

 

He couldn't help the tears that tripped over the lower lid of his eye.

 

“Oh fuck.” He whispered, irritated with himself. It was all his fault- Meg had been right and he had no right to be upset. Dean held all the cards on being angry, feeling used. He didn't even deserve this kindness from his cousin. He should be on the streets, cold, damp and dirty.

 

“You want to talk about it?” Came Gabe's voice, as if from far away. He used the sleeve of his dark grey shirt to wipe his cheek dry, smiling brifly at the memory of shopping with Dean, of his surprised reaction when he had seen him changed, until he remembered that he didn't deserve the happy memories. He would give them back if he could. Erase his cruel and using self form Dean's own memory. 

 

He shook his head to Gabe's query then downed the beer, wanting the memories gone. 

 

He realised as he swallowed his last gulp that, unlike how he had felt when he walked away from Meg, he was too full, stuffed with memories and feelings that he couldn't begin to identify. “It's so much worse than when I left Meg.” He finally stuttered out, his voice thick and choked as he stared vacantly at the empty beer bottle.

 

“You've left someone? I thought this was about Meg? I didn't know you were seeing someo-”

 

“What?” Castiel cut across Gabe's words. Seeing someone? 

 

“I'm impressed Cassie! Who is she?”

 

“What- no! Gabe, I'm not in another relationship. I- I fucked up my friendship with Dean, the man I have been staying with.” His throat closed again as his words tailed off, he couldn't explain the ridiculous situation he had got himself in to. The inappropriateness, the lines he had crossed.

 

Gabe didn't speak, clearly biting his tongue as he looked right at Castiel. Eventually he took a breath. “And this feels worse than it did when you walked out on Meg? A woman who abused you? Made you _need_ her?”

 

He was about to retort Gabe's accusation, but he was free of her enough now to realise that that was what she had done, and not only physically. Being scared of your partner was not how things ought to be, and he understood that that hold should have made leaving her far more difficult that ruining a friendship but-

 

He nodded miserably. It really did hurt worse. The pain of guilt carried hand in hand with fond memories was far more painful than resigned numbness. He felt as if he had genuinely lost something.

 

“Cassie?” He looked up at Gabe's clear gaze, no hint of evil mischief written on his features. “I think you should go to bed, we'll talk in the morning okay? I'll arrange Kevin to cover me and we can hang out tomorrow.” 

 

Castiel just nodded, too tired to be able to form a counter argument, but worried nonetheless that he would dwell all night on what he had done, what he had lost.

 

-

 

He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

-

 

He awoke in the morning, groggy and grumpy, although he didn't need to bend backwards for once to put his spine back in the correct alignment, having been allowed to stretch out fully on Gabriel's bed for the night.

 

He stumped in to Gabe's kitchen, wondering what the time was, and what he was missing in his lectures. Then he thought it might simply not matter, as he would probably drop out, quit. Why stay? “Mornin' princess!” Gabe called the moment he heard him, as his flipped pancakes, 

 

Castiel just groaned, the phrase making him ache for Dean's presence. 

 

“Okay. Spill.” Gabe stated, placing a plate on the table and pointing to the seat so sternly, that Castiel meekly sat down.

 

He huffed out a breath and poked at the pancakes with his fork. “I angered my friend, I betrayed him. So, I left, rather than force him to throw me out.”

 

Gabriel sat down, his own plate stacked significantly higher. “What makes you think he would have thrown you out?”

 

Castiel sighed heavily and pushed his plate away, fixing Gabe with a glare. “Because he has a low tolerance for what constitutes betrayal, and I have basically lied to him from the moment I walked through his door.”

 

He looked away, swallowing around the lump in his throat, all guilt and anger at himself. 

 

“I feel so guilty Gabe, but there's nothing I can do to make it up to him. He was so kind to me, helped me so much, and all I did was take up his time and money and space, and then, to top it all, I pretend to be something- someone I'm not-”

 

He wiped angrily at the tears that had escaped before folding his arms across his chest, fists clenched. He couldn't stand himself just then, and it angered himself even more to know that after years of a relationship with Meg, he had been able to just walk away, but this? This was destroying him.

 

“What did you even do, Cassie? I can't believe you're as bad as you're saying. And, if he's as good a friend as you seem to be acting like he is… Then shouldn't he forgive you?”

 

Castiel grunted out an infuriated noise. “No! I don't know!” He pushed himself up to his feet, pacing the small kitchen, wearing the same clothes from the day before, waist coat discarded, shirt untucked. 

 

He glared at the floor as he paced, beginning to feel embarrassed for his earlier tears, feeling more and more angry every second. “I don't get it Gabe, I spent years with Meg. I was unhappy, yeah, but leaving her had been- I dunno, easy. I'm so angry at my self for fucking it up with the first friend I've ever fucking had! Jesus Christ! I'm so fucking pathetic. I'm clearly not meant ot have friends, I can't even be honest with the first person, besides you to be kind to me.”

 

He turned and fixed Gabriel's surprised face with a stare. “And, I'm sorry, for never really believeing that, that you were on my side, or that I could come to you, or that you could help. I realise now that that was wrong. So. I'm sorry.”

 

He slumped, then decided his legs couldn't really support him anymore, so dropped back in to his chair, dejected and tired. 

 

“Woah, Cuz. Firstly, this guy, who ever he is, might be kinda, maybe, worth fighting to keep in your life-”

 

Castiel looked up at that. Gabriel had never said a positive thing about Meg, it was difficult to swallow hearing it about Dean. 

 

“I mean, look at you? I mean, yeah, you look like shit, but I can see the new look, new clothes, you stand taller too, even now. You're healthier and you've put on weight. You look happier. And, not least, you ain't trying to hide the winces or the bandages or the bruises that I always knew were there. And, it's been, what, only two weeks?”

 

Castiel hung his head in shame. He had always tried so hard to avoid those things being seen. But, Gabriel had a point. He knew Dean had been good for him.

 

“And, secondly, and I'm goin' out on a limb here. Are you, er- Are you completely certain that the way you, um- How you feel about Dean is entirely, or maybe just, um friendship?”

 

Castiel looked up, confused. Gabriel looked pained, as if he was waiting for a well deserved punch in the face. That or he needed the toilet, it was a fair bet with Gabriel, either way.

 

“I don't understand?”

 

“Look,” Gabriel began, slumping in his own chair. “I'm just saying that even you know you're reacting differently to running out on Dean than how you did when you left Meg, a woman who still had you so under control when you did leave, that you decided that staying on the streets, homeless, was a better alternative than seeking your family out for help. That sounds like more than friendship to me.”

 

Castiel had stopped listening when Gabriel revealed that he was aware he had been homeless. He had never told him. It was galling to know that Gabe had known.

 

He glared at Gabriel as he thought through his words, the meaning. He had worked it out, and never called him out on it. Never once been angry with him. Just accepting. And now he was saying that his reaction to Dean was similar? Or too different? Either way;

 

“You think I _like_ Dean?!”

 

“Bingo.” Gabe answered quietly, sadly, looking down at the cold pancakes.

 

“But I- I'm Strai-”

 

“And yet here we are, Cuz,” Gabe huffed out on a sigh. “One unhealthy reaction to ending a relationship; nothingness and thinking sleeping on a park bench or something was reasonable, as opposed to a healthy way; tears and anger and being upset and calling your family to help you out.”

 

“I- I-” He stuttered, brain having stalled. “I'm going out.” And with that he strode purposefully from the apartment, thoughts whirling. 

 

Gabriel let him go.

 

-

 

I'm attracted to women, he thought angrily as he stomped down some back road, garbage littering the street. He kicked an empty paper cup as it rolled along in the bitter wind. 

 

I've been with Meg since I was eighteen. I am not attracted to men. He scowled and turned back on to the main road, small run down shops and cafes lining the street.

 

Before that? He actually stopped marching for a moment, trying to remember. He had to admit, that since Meg had got her claws in to him, he hadn't looked much at other people. The fall out had always been too great. Before Meg? He had hardly been worth looking at and had attracted no good attention. He hadn't bothered to look, acknowledging that he was too damaged to be appealing, so had never looked first.

 

He began walking again, scowling. Even further back, he'd been a nerd, except that one summer when he had made friends. But, back then, he had been trying to learn how to land his skateboard without falling off, utterly disinterested in anything much else, including girls. 

 

He found himself in front of a run down park, one swing broken and graffiti scrawled all over the slides. 

 

He wanted to sit, but his thoughts were in too much turmoil, so he turned away, and started following the road toward more shops, a better quality, less litter lying on the side-walks.

 

Masturbation. His mind suddenly threw up, making him wince in embarrassment, as if he had said it aloud. He squirmed and hugged his belly in the cold air, reminded for a moment that he was hardly dressed for late Autumn when the wind blew so bitterly. He cursed under his breath and finally admitted to himself that, even in this he was weird and awkward. He hadn't masturbated- practically ever. Before Meg, yes, but- Unlike others, he purely sought the pleasure, the release. He never pictured attractive women, his imagination simply blanking out and allowing him to feel his hand on himself. While he was with Meg? He huffed a laugh a the thought. And since? While he slept under a bridge he had hardly felt like it- and whilst at Dean's?

 

He hadn't thought about it. 

 

He shrugged. Clearly, he was too used to that not being a part of his life.

 

So, with no evidence in his past to back up Gabe's suggestion- He stopped again, making a women mutter at him as she had to veer around him on the side-walk. It was true, he couldn't think of an instance where he had thought of men like that, but aside from Meg, he hadn't really spent time thinking of women either.

 

He started walking again, hands deep in his pockets, trying not to shiver. As he had only had one relationship, an extremely unhealthy one at that, he was able to admit, what basis did he have to assume that he was straight. Why shouldn't he like men too?

 

He stopped again, staring blankly at a shop's window selling old and professional camera equipment, the glass obscured slightly with yellow film. He tried to imagine kissing a man. He felt nothing. He tried to image kissing a women. Nothing.

 

He sneered at his reflection. If he didn't picture things while jerking off, he would hardly find it worked in reverse for something so moderate.

 

“But it doesn't disgust you does it?” He found himself asking his reflection. 

 

He hummed and turned to continue his walk. “What about emotionally?” He asked himself, ignoring his growling and empty stomach. He sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Again, no basis for comparison. Dean would never treat me in any way like Meg did.”

 

He stopped again, this time, getting jostled by a man as he jogged by, yelling a half-angry apology over his shoulder as he passed.

 

“Dean.”

 

He breathed out slowly, rolling his head back to look right up at the over cast sky. He scowled, his belly grumbling again, and he wondered what the time was, having turned his phone off the moment Gabriel had picked him up. Muttering about his stupid stomach having got used to stupid regular meals he eyed a diner covetously, and turned his feet and his wallet-free ass back to Gabriel's apartment. 

 

Turn it around, he thought. What was it that made Gabe say what he did? What does Gabe see?

 

Gabriel had mentioned his new clothes, his posture. A lack of injuries. Healthier, happier.

 

“So, Dean's good for me? Well, I knew that,” he muttered. “Is that not what friends are?”

 

“So what's the difference between friends and lovers?”

 

He bit his lip. “Sexual attraction,” but, then, he sighed internally, he's back to where he began, unable to work out if it's only women he likes. 

 

“But, it isn't just that.” With Meg, even while they were together, he knew their relationship wasn't right. There was none of the intimacy that movies and television would have you believe was normal.

 

“I almost feel as if I know more about Dean, his habits, his feelings than I ever knew about Meg. Dean certainly knows more about me than she ever did.” He whispered, his words whipped away in the wind.

 

He almost smiled as he thought back to cooking steak quietly for Dean while he was completely absorbed in his work, or teaching him to cook omelette, sharing his kitchenette easily, or the comfortable way they had just fit, sharing a bathroom, the lounge. Swapping chores and relaxing together on that tiny couch, knees touching, smiling together at the television or discussing films and books. He remembered shopping with Dean, and smiled more broadly, thinking of his patience with him, or his presence, just reassuring enough with out being too much, of how natural that had felt. He thought back to that evening- only two days ago. Thought of coming home to find Dean working, of cooking something he knew he would like, of surprising the man, a happy surprise. He remembered Dean turning an overbalanced step in to a stretch, of his flat stomach being bared, of that trail of hair-

 

He stopped walking again and look down at himself.

 

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long. The next will probably take equally long I'm afraid. A comment or a kudos is always nice to see. Or come and say hello on [Tumblr](anonymousantonym.tumblr.com). Also, I haven't really edited this chapter, sorry. But, I needed to get something published as I've been working so long on non publishable projects. I may go back and edit at some point.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a little short, but you may thank me for that? I smashed this all out today, so might be a bit error-y. Hope this tides y'all over for a little while <3

Dean sat, entirely still, eyes glazed over, still staring at the spot where Castiel's terrified, white blanched face had been mere moments before.

 

He had stepped through the door, intent on trying to explain to Cas that he had discovered he felt things for him, or at least for men-in-general, that he had never expected to. 

 

He had been expecting rejection.

 

He hadn't been expecting to be sucker punched to the gut with some- some creepy- creepy fucking stalker!

 

He stared at the paper crunched his in clenched fist. It was a dense explanation of allowable expenses. It was betrayal. It falsified everything he had come to feel for the man he had willingly opened his home, his life, fuck- his heart to. 

 

Suddenly he was on his feet pacing the small length of his living room, chewing his tongue, fists held taught at his sides. He couldn't believe that he had been played. That the man, had what, used him?

 

Had Cas made him feel like this about him on purpose? Had he known what he was doing? Had everything with Meg been a lie?

 

How had he-?

 

He dropped to his knees in the centre of the room, his vision suddenly blurred by tears.

 

It was just another rejection, another time someone had used him for what they wanted, taken what they needed and gone, left. 

 

He truly was worthless.

 

-

 

It was later. Much, much later, when Dean's phone pinged from his pocket. He was lying in the centre of the room, exactly where he had fallen to his knees hours before, staring, empty, in to the void. He wanted to ignore it, but the damn thing had drawn him back to himself, he finally realised that his arm was numb, and the phone was digging in to his hip. 

 

He groaned and flopped in to his back, scowling at the tightness of his face where his tears had dried. 

 

With the arm not coursing with pins and needles, he retrieved his phone, swiping it open and stared blankly at the screen.

 

Charlie; _So how'd it go? Benny miiiight ha_ _ve_ _called me…. I need to know!_

 

On automatic pilot, he found himself pressing the call button.

 

“Dean?” She answered, sounding confused but happy. Dean felt his chest cave in just a little more. How soon until she left him too? And Benny…?

 

“He- He's the one w-” He broke off, unable to continue, to explain.

 

He flinched when, instead of silence or encouragement Charlie practically screamed down the line. “You're together! Aaah! I knew it!”

 

Dean stared at the ceiling a moment, wondering what on Earth she was talking about, until he realised the mistake. He curled in to a ball on his side again, chest too tight to speak for a moment.

 

“No, Charlie-” he eventually choked out. “Y'know those notes Chuck made us write at the start of term?”

 

As she hummed bewildered agreement, he suddenly wondered whether Castiel had received any. His heart ached with something other than betrayal and worthlessness for a moment. He wanted to comfort Cas-

 

“I got one, that day, that- It made me feel- I don't know. It was weird. It made me feel like some one, I dunno, could _see_ me.” He bit his lip remembering how confused, but warm that well read note had made him feel. “Then, I got a second, from the same person.” He huffed a tired laugh remembering the apology on it. “They were nice you know? They kept me going, they're what really made me start talking to you and Benny more. Your notes helped, of course-”

 

His voice cracked again, and Charlie whispered comforting nonsense through the phone, somehow knowing he wasn't done talking yet.

 

“I-” He huffed another laugh, this time in derision of his own stupidity. “He never sat with us, in that lecture. You remember? That's why. I know those fuckin' notes backward, I'd know the hand writing anywhere. He _knew.”_

 

There was just silence on the other end, Charlie waiting for him to get it all out. “I came home from the bar. I was going to tell him, that, that-” He couldn’t say it.

 

“That you like him. As more than a friend. He makes you happy.”

 

Dean nodded in to the empty room, too empty.

 

“M- made.” He amended. 

 

“He- He was working. He never works at home. I guess I know why now.” He knew, through his tears, that he was beginning to get angry. Angry at being lied to, angry that he had been used. But, he still felt like his stomach had been ripped out. All this time- he thought he'd found someone that effortlessly made him feel worthwhile, that needed _and_ wanted him-

 

He had been wrong.

 

God only knows what Castiel had actually wanted from him. 

 

Perhaps just refuge.

 

“I saw his revision notes, I was going to tell him that- that-” He gave up a moment. He had only had the conversation with Benny hours before. He wasn't used to thinking of himself an anything less than straight. He had been planning on telling Cas that he might be attracted to men, to start, to gauge how he would take it. Of that, at least, he had been confidant of a warm reception. Castiel didn't have it in him to hate someone for their sexuality. 

 

He hadn't known how to tell him that he actually _liked_ Cas. His plan had been to wing it- Benny had been adamant that he had to tell him though, that if he left it a moment later, Castiel would move on, and neither of them would have the courage to explain how they felt. 

 

Dean scoffed that Benny had been of the opinion Castiel felt the same way, but he had agreed, had finished his beer, and walked straight home, to Cas-

 

He heaved out a deep sigh. “I was going to tell him that I might like guys too, Charlie. But I didn't get the chance. I picked up one of his revision notes and,” he broke off to laugh at himself again, his idiocy, “I didn't recognise the writing at first! It took me a moment, I was reading the content, then I noticed- He just fucking ran for it Char. Didn't even bother to try 'n explain.”

 

“What the fuck was he even doing here? It's just another fucking person who doesn't need me.” 

 

“Oh honey, I'm so sorry.” Dean nodded. He believed Charlie meant it. They had both been fooled.

 

“But, Dean, firstly, there are loads of us who needs you, and, please tell me you're not blaming him?” Dean sat upright, her words making him want to vomit all the betrayal, the lies right down the phone so she could understand.

 

“I mean, you _have_ met the guy right? Horribly shy? Spent years being controlled by his crazy ex? Can't hug for shit? It sounds like he reached out the only way he could when an opportunity came along, and when you took him in- Well, how could he tell you?”

 

Dean didn't have an answer. He couldn't even speak.

 

She was right. The Cas he had met, only a few weeks ago, _he_ couldn't have said those things aloud. He could barely look someone in the eye without jumping of fright. 

 

“It must have been eating at him. All this time.” Charlie continued, sounding sad.

 

Dean collapsed back, on to the floor with a grunt. Now, he felt like an asshole. “You-” he took a deep breath, “you really think it was… all innocent?”

 

“Darling, that man doesn't have a duplicitous bone in his body. You thought he ran because he was guilty? Of what? Dean, he ran because he was terrified you would get angry with him.”

 

Dean closed his eyes.

 

“Shit.” 

 

“Yeah,” Charlie paused. Dean heard as she sucked in a breath. “Have you called him? You need to call him. You need to talk to him.”

 

Dean nodded again, smiling sadly, as he remembered the terror on the man's face before he fled the apartment. _He_ had done that to Cas. He had promised that the man would never be hurt again, and yet, he had been the one to hurt him.

 

“Ye- Yeah, okay Charlie, I'll call him now.”

 

“Okay, let me know how it goes okay?”

 

He agreed and they hung up, the humming of the fridge in the corner the only sound filling the room.

 

He sighed and heaved himself up, dragging his ass on to the couch, which by rights ought to have Cas curled up on it. Or maybe-

 

He frowned hard as he fiddled with his phone, putting off calling Cas, despite how late it was. 

 

Maybe. Maybe Cas could sleep in his bed, when he came home. He felt a little hiccup like bubble of excitement and fear at that thought. Maybe, he would just let Cas have the bed, and he could sleep on the couch. Let the guy know- What? That Dean liked him? Liked his smile? Liked his grumpy, stupid face in the morning, and his wild hair? Liked the man's jibbing, his humour, his pride, his-

 

“Fuck.” He whispered and hit dial on the phone.

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

“No, come on Cas, I'm sorry, pick up.”

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

“No! Fuck.” Dean thumped his still lit phone screen against his forehead, glaring at the painfully bright numbers.

 

Numbers which read 01:39

 

He deflated. He was exhausted, and Cas' phone was off, and it was twenty to two in the morning. He would call again in the morning proper. They would both be calm, and he could apologise for scaring Cas, and Cas could explain what had really happened, and Dean could tell him that he thought he might be interested in guys, as well as girls, and would Cas maybe want to-

 

Go on a date?

 

He shuddered at the prospect of asking him _that._ Maybe leave it at seeing if Cas would hate him for finding guys- _a_ guy, attractive.

 

Resolved, he went to bed.

 

-

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

“Fuck!” Dean shouted in to the sunlight filled, silent, empty, and suddenly too big apartment.

 

He scowled at his phone, hating it.

 

He had hardly slept, thinking of those God forsaken notes. The four notes, from his three friends. The four bits of paper that had made him begin to think he was worth something, the notes that had made him reach out to people who cared for him. Castiel had cared for him, even before he knew him. 

 

How could someone that kind and good have ended up with someone like Meg, someone like Dean?

 

Castiel was too good for all of them.

 

His mind drifted as he idly pressed dial again, wondering once more whether Cas had received a single note that day in Chuck's class, their first class of the year.

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

Dean hadn't even known he had existed then, had anyone else? Had anyone sent him a kind word?

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

_ This number is unavailable at this time, please try again later. _

 

He threw his phone across the room, angrily aiming it for his bed through his open bedroom door, where it bounced and hit the floor anyway. 

 

“Where are you Cas?” He groaned into the still air. He had received a phone all from the office just after he had missed his first lecture, a concerned woman asking if he and Castiel were okay, as they were listed at the same address and neither had attended that morning. 

 

He had faked a raspy voice and told the woman they both had food poisoning.

 

But, he was home, alone, and sick with fear; or rejection, of never getting Cas back, of being wrong, of being worthless after all. And Cas was no where to be found.

 

He had thought briefly of trawling the streets, trying to find Cas hiding under some bridge or sitting quietly on some park bench. But, his gut reaction was that Castiel had learned his lesson, he wouldn't willingly end up on the streets again, not even for some awful fear of retribution from Dean. He had come on too much for that, surely.

 

“Just pick up your phone and I can tell you some shit, like that letter you wrote to me-”

 

He stopped talking. Mind working furiously. 

 

He could write him a note-

 

But how would be get him to read it?

 

Cas had left the second one in his bag, how could Dean leave one for him to find it?

 

Dean got up, swearing fluently. He was back to 'where the hell was Cas?'

 

He stormed over to the fridge, needing to do _something_ , and glared at the contents; one box of eggs, a block of cheese, half a Danish that Cas had left uneaten for some insane reason, and half a carton of milk.

 

Half a Danish. He looked at it sadly, trying to remember when Cas had bought it. 

 

“Fuck!” He yelled gleefully at the Danish, a grin suddenly pulling at his lips. 

 

Castiel had a cousin. He ran a bakery. Dean had been relieved that he had someone other than him who cared! “Gary? Giles? No, Ga- Gar- Gal. Shit.” He slammed the fridge door.

 

“Gabe! Gabriel! That's it!” He practically danced his way over to his laptop where it was propped next to his drawing board. He knew Gabe had visited Cas when he lived with Meg, knew he drove. Cas hadn't mention much else.

 

He googled Gabriel and Bakery, within a four-hour-drive radius.

 

“Huh, what do you know?” He asked his unpleasantly quiet room. 

 

One result, after he syphoned through the recipes for ginger bread and Christmas cookies.

 

“And he lives in the same town as Sam. Of course he does.” He glared at the computer screen.

 

He glared a little more.

 

He got up.

 

He picked up his phone.

 

He glared at the computer screen a little more.

 

“Hello, Sam?”


	13. Chapter 13

“Hello, Sam?”

 

“Dean?” Sam answered, sounding confused. He probably was, Dean should have been in school or asleep that early in the morning.

 

“Yeah, it's me,” he sighed, wondering how to begin. It felt like an age since he and his brother had spoken, and he knew he had been off with him, when he had told him he wouldn't be able to visit. He knew he had been unfair on his brother, but that lingering resentment had definitely made it in to his tone. He needed to apologise, to tell Sam that he truly was happy for him, that he shouldn't feel bad for leaving Dean. That Dean was actually okay, honestly okay.

 

“Look Dean, I'm glad you called actually. I wanted to apologise.” Dean sat up straight in surprise. “I know you were looking forward to me coming to see you over the break,” Sam continued sounding contrite. “So, I'm sorry that I upset you like that. I have a day off, I could see you then?”

 

Dean bit his lip and smiled, shaking his head at how good a kid Sam was. “Sammy, its fine. Look. I know I've been an ass,” he huffed with a little laugh. “I've been relying on you too much to- I dunno, keep me grounded I guess. I really am happy that you got this placement Sam, honestly.” He meant it too. He couldn't be prouder that Sam was doing so well.

 

“Yeah?” Sam sounded so doubtful, listening for the crack in Dean's voice, waiting for the lie to show. It broke Dean's already fractured heart.

 

“Don't be an ass! Of course I am! Your my genius kid brother! Who wouldn't be proud? I just- I've found it really hard to be, y'know not needed by you any more-”

 

“Dean I'll always-”

 

“No, you won't and that's fine.” He nodded decisively, even though Sam couldn't see over the phone. “I would love to see you, but I shouldn't be there in your life all the damn time. I shouldn't be making you feel bad for having your own life. You're your own person. And I need to become my own person too.”

 

He paused to take a breath. This was it. “I've kind of- I have a friend. But I fucked up. He needs me- and I know it sound like I'm replacing you. But, it's different. I kinda need him too, like it's a two way street. We're good together, make a good team-” He was rambling, he didn't know how to express what he wanted to say, and certainly didn't want to have _that_ conversation with Sam yet.

 

“Dean what are you trying to tell me here?” Yup, _that_ conversation.

 

He huffed out a sigh and closed his eyes, blanking out the google results page with Gabriel's bakery sitting there, watching him. “I have a favour to ask...”

 

-

 

“Give. Him. To. Me.” Meg snarled into Dean's face. 

 

It was six thirty in the morning and he stood blocking the doorway to his- _their_ apartment, arms folded, an implacable expression on his face.

 

He did not have fucking time for this. He had a plan and he had to keep to it.

 

Meg and her shit were not worth a moment more wasted on her, but-

 

But he also couldn't afford to let her give him shit. For Castiel's sake. He had to protect him. Whether or not he wanted him. As a friend or-

 

“Meg, even if I could give you Cas, you must be aware by now that I wouldn't. Cas is my- friend. I've got his back.” He glared at her, internally rejoicing in the dark, greasy roots growing in to her blonde hair, her no longer perfect complexion, her mud spattered heels. He winced, though, at her widening eyes over his stumbled words.

 

“It's your fault you lost the best God damned thing that could have ever happened to you.” He leant over her, looking down on her, intimidating her. “You abused him for years, but that man is- is the fucking sun, even after you did your best to ruin him.”

 

Meg's mouth was agape, but her eyes were narrowing. 

 

“You want money? Go get a legit job, but I suspect the cops'll find you. You want a slave? Tough shit. This shit is out of Cas' hands. Even if you somehow coerced him in to going back to you, which by the way, will never happen, he couldn't halt the investigation.”

 

Dean was talking out of his ass. He knew shit about such things, but it seemed realistic that as Cas hadn't called in the cops in the first place, he wouldn't be able to call them off either. 

 

“He will come begging for me to take him back.” Meg hissed, trying to step forward, trying to see past him in to his living room.

 

“No, sweetheart, he wont. You know why? Because with only a few short weeks of being given even the most pathetically small amount of decent attention, a warm place to sleep, regular meals, conversation, his own choices, he is stronger, braver, more confidant, and more self assured. You can't undo that. No one can. Cas is his own person now. He has self worth. He's earned it and he deserves it, and I will fight you tooth and nail, on every fucking whim you have to keep Cas safe, well, whole and away from you.”

 

Without another word, Dean slammed the door in her face.

 

He turned back to his apartment and sighed. 

 

He was in a rush- he didn't have time- But he had to protect Cas, and that meant calling the cops to report his evil, scamming, ex-girlfriend.

 

He just hoped he wouldn't be to late, he hoped that Cas would forgive him.

 

-

 

“Cassie! Is that you?” called Gabe as Castiel pushed through the back door into the bakery.

 

He had woken up at the same time as Gabriel, and had been unable to get back to sleep as Gabe got ready to start his shift. So, Cas had cursed and heaved himself off Gabe's sofa. They had walked together to the bakery in preoccupied silence. He saw Gabe into the kitchen then peeled off, pounding the streets in the dark, glad to burn off the energy, his brain seething.

 

It was a little past half eleven by the time he returned, and he was cold and bored, tired of walking around the city in ever increasing circles with only a borrowed hoodie for warmth.

 

He sighed. He needed to come to a decision. Stay at school; and deal with everything that that came with, or move in with Gabe and re-think his whole life.

 

Either way, he had to return to Dean's apartment somehow, and claim his belongings.

 

He slumped against the door frame into the bakery's kitchen, inhaling the aroma of fresh bread, and listening to the early morning bustle from the cafe counter through the doors.

 

It really did feel like his second break up in a month. He couldn't get over the pain, the guilt, the ache of it all. He had lost something perfect, someone who had helped him when he had believed himself past help. Dean was good and strong and patient, and what was _he_? Worthless, pathetic- Dean would never consider Cas a friend now, let alone anything more. Did he want more? What eve-

 

“Cassie!” Gabe yelled again, cutting Castiel's thoughts off abruptly, reminding Cas that he hadn't replied. 

 

“Yeah, it's me,” he said quietly.

 

“Cheer up Cuz! Want a coffee while I tell you a tale of woe and heartbreak?” he said, appearing from the walk in fridge.

 

Castiel had not told Gabriel of his self made discoveries of the previous morning, he had sat in sullen silence the remainder of the day, staring vacantly at the television, while Gabe puttered around him. So, he had to bite his lip instead of replying that he had had enough woe and heartbreak for twenty-four hours.

 

Instead, he sighed and nodded, grateful, two minutes later, for the warm drink shoved in his direction. 

 

“So,” Gabe began, an impish grin on his face, “this morning, about five minutes after you left some kid came running past, jogged right up to the door looking furtive as you like. Could have given me a run for my money!”

 

Castiel huffed into his mug, wondering where Gabe was going with his story. 

 

“Anyway, I only saw him because I needed some more sanitiser from the cupboard. He slipped something under the door, then ran off!”

 

Cas frowned. It was strange, certainly, but- “where does the heartbreak and woe come in to this?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, well, you know, college kid, big 'n hunky, long flowing hair...” He trailed off dreamily, a comic expression of longing on his face. 

 

“Really Gabe?” he asked with a small smile. Gabriel grinned wickedly and shrugged. “Got you to smile though, didn't it?” Castiel inclined his head in agreement, sipping at his coffee, willing to admit his cousin had won that round.

 

“So, yeah. It's for you.” 

 

Castiel blinked at him. “What is?”

 

“This.” Gabriel flourished an envelope he grabbed from the top of a shelf with his floury hands.

 

Castiel frowned, putting his coffee mug down on the shining stainless steel. 

 

“The, er, break room's free. I'll bring you a top up and some breakfast, 'kay?”

 

Castiel just nodded, not recognizing the hand writing on the envelope that simply said 'Cas.' Why would anyone leave him anything, here of all places?

 

No one knew he was here.

 

With a feeling of dread, he sat at the Formica table in the room smelling of pastry and stale coffee and slipped his finger under the seal, finding a folded piece of paper within, covered with the same hand writing as his name on the front.

 

_ Cas, _

 

_ I realised that this is long overdue. A reply, payback for the note you gave me. I just hope it isn't too late… _

 

Castiel's stomach sank, turning to lead.

 

_ I've only known you a short time, but you've become one of the most important people in my life. You've been important to me far longer than I've known you, because of those notes you gave me. _

 

He blinked, his belly unfreezing. Eyes glued to the page, he read on.

 

_ I've never known anyone so strong, so resilient. I couldn't be prouder to be counted as one of your friends. It literally causes me pain to see you when you're unsure of yourself, hurting, scared. I hate it. I'll do everything I can to protect you from being hurt again. _

 

_ Especially when it's me doing the hurting.  _

 

_ I'm so sorry, Cas. I never wanted to frighten you. _

 

_ There's so much more I want to say to you, and I hope you'll forgive me enough to let me. Stay there. I'm coming to bring you home if you'll let me? _

 

Castiel jumped as Gabriel placed his coffee and a toastie on the table. He had to swallow around the lump in his throat. All he could do was look pleadingly up at Gabe with watery eyes, too stunned to think, to understand, to comprehend.

 

Gabriel dropped in to a crouch next to him, gently taking the paper from his hands. 

 

“He- He thinks it's his fault- He doesn't hate-”

 

Gabe shook his head, a smile on his lips. “I never thought he did, Cassie.”

 

“Er, Gabe?” Kevin interrupted, poking his head through the door. “Is your brother here- Oh. Um, you Cas? Someone here to see you.”

 

-

 

“I'm going to shower,” Cas said quietly, avoiding Dean's eyes and ducking down to his pile of clothes to extract his sleeping pants and one of his running t-shirts. 

 

“Here,” Dean said, handing him his fluffy hoodie again, a little sheepishly. He would be cold without it, but Dean had been wearing it in Cas' absence, he hoped he wouldn't mind.

 

Cas flashed him a small smile of thanks and disappeared in to the bathroom. 

 

It had been an uncomfortable drive back, barely a word spoken between them. Dean was terrified that he had ruined everything, and had sat there, brooding, despite Sam's words to him after he had dropped in on his way to the bakery. 

 

They'd hugged, and Sam had told him he would visit and wanted to know everything. He had given him a meaningful _look_ at which, Dean had scowled. 

 

The fact was, though, he was embarrassed. He'd scared his friend, his male friend who he had a crush on- How was he supposed to approach that?

 

He turned to the fridge. He could start with cooking dinner, he supposed.

 

-

 

Castiel leant with his forehead on the cool, clean, tile, wondering how he had got there.

 

Not the car journey that had had him squirming internally, dwelling on his sudden knowledge of his attraction for Dean, but in this situation. How had he ended up sharing an apartment with a man who was sweet and charming, broken and strong. How had he deserved that? How had he deserved to be saved? How had he deserved to be forgiven?

 

He spent too long under the hot stream of water, but it felt nice after two days in the same clothes, and two long car journeys. When he stepped out, scrubbed pink, he dried himself down and pulled on the sleeping clothes.

 

It was early, but he was exhausted, physically and mentally. He had spent the whole drive back thinking round and round in circles about what to do. 

 

If Dean really had forgiven him, or even thought that there was no fault in the first place, then he had no reason not to stay in school. But fleeing to Gabe's had left him with a flicker of doubt about his career path. He wasn't sure it was truly something he wanted to be doing- It had all been Meg. On top of that, of course, was that nagging realisation. That warmth in his gut when he had stepped through the bakery door in to the café, and been pulled in to a hug by a white faced, red eyed Dean.

 

He looked as if he had been up too long, anguished. He had whispered “I'm sorry,” in to Cas' neck before pushing him back at arms length, a lopsided grin on his face. “Come home?” He had asked. 

 

All Cas had been able to do was nod once. 

 

He stepped from the bathroom in to the living room, seeing Dean at the oven, focused intently on a recipe book that Cas had never seen before. He smiled.

 

That car journey had been uncomfortable, yes, but there had been no animosity. Cas could tell they had both been thinking hard. He, about if he could ever be more than a friend to Dean, if he himself wanted that, really, what it would be like to hold hands with- or kiss a man, and Dean, undoubtedly, about the notes, the words that hung between them.

 

He sighed and leant on the breakfast bar, making Dean spin around in surprise. 

 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he said apologetically, running his hand through his wet hair to push it our of his eyes.

 

Dean continued to look startled, his eyes wide as he licked his lips. 

 

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat. “Look, er, we need to talk,” he began, walking around the counter to stand next to Cas. Cas sighed, knowing it was true. 

Dean began rubbing a hand up and down his forearm as he continued, “but, I wanted to make you dinner- um. I-”

 

Cas frowned and looked up at Dean. He looked nervous, was he trying to break bad news? Did he was Cas to leave afterall?

 

“Oh shit,” Dean whispered suddenly, “fuck it.” 

 

Castiel blinked in surprise as he found Dean's lips abruptly pressed against his, firm, damp, warm- and gone.

 

Dean looked mortified, terrified. Hopeful. Worried.

 

Cas was frozen in shock, blinking up at Dean.

 

What seemed like an age later, staring silently in to Dean's eyes, Cas took a breath to speak. Not that he knew what he wanted to say. 

 

Not that it mattered. The apartment door swung inward, a loud thunk pulling his gaze from Dean as he door rebounded off the wall.

 

Framed in the hall way, enraged, filthy, dishevelled, stood Meg.

 

“Castiel,” she hissed, “you have taken this too far.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know what you all think!


	14. Chapter 14

“Cas get in to the bathroom. Lock the door and call the cops,” Dean ordered, turning back to Meg. Cas had yet to move, but he trusted that he had enough self preservation to do as he was told.

 

Dean glared at her, wondering at how desperate she must be. What was she even attempting, by coming to them, by going after Cas?

 

He let out a breath as he heard the bathroom door click shut, the latch sliding across.

 

“He cant hide in there for ever,” she sing-songed, creeping forward on tottering heels, eyes glazed.

 

Dean shrugged, trying to remain calm, listening to the low murmur of Cas' lovely voice as he called the police. “He wont need to,” he answered, a little honest confusion creeping in to his voice. Did she really think they were trapped now?

 

“Just because you think he's under _your_ thumb now, _D_ _ean_ , he will come back to me.” She hissed her words, seeming to inflate with anger every moment that Cas was out of her reach. “Castiel!” she screeched, “you miss me don'tcha? I'll take you back, no questions asked, no need to hide!”

 

Dean released a controlled breath. He had to refrain from getting angry. But, he couldn't hold back from retaliating in some way. The truth seemed appropriate. He needed to protect Cas. That kiss—he needed to know what Cas' reaction was going to be, he wouldn't give him a chance to let him doubt himself.

 

“Meg, Cas isn't under my thumb.” Her gaze lingered on the closed bathroom door, but he could tell she was listening. “I haven't, and I wont, _tell_ him to do anything. He is free to go, or stay.” He shrugged a shoulder, finally understanding the truth of his own words, just like with Sam. He loved him- as a friend, as a brother, as- he didn't know what, but he didn't own them, and they owed each other nothing.

 

“He's my-” he broke off to clear his throat. “He's my friend. He has my respect. I feel I can speak for Cas on this point, there will be no taking back. You have nothing to offer him. Even if you crawled on hands and knees begging for his forgiveness- and you should be doing that, Hell! _I_ should be doing that. I've told you before, Meg, Cas is the sun.”

 

“We hardly even deserve to be in his presence. How dare you expect to make him yours again, you can't tame him, keep as your pet. He is pure, and perfect, and bright- I don't know what I've done to deserve his friendship, but I know for a fact that you don't deserve to even look upon his face. So- Just go.”

 

Dean had to give it to Meg- she moved fast. He didn't have time to dodge before she backhanded him across the cheek, three large lumpy rings splitting his face open from cheek bone to lip.

 

Dean lifted his eyes and turned back to face her, unflinching and grinned.

 

-

 

Cas was out the door the moment he heard that sickeningly familiar sound of skin slapping skin hard.

 

He swung Dean bodily around, hands on his shoulders, already yelling, “you do not get to do that! Not to Dean. Not to someone who actually has- someone who is actually a friend.”

 

With Dean behind him, safe, he turned to Meg, sneering in to her shocked, white face. “You will not hurt someone capable of human emotion.”

 

Finally his thoughts caught up with his actions, and he faltered, brain stuttering. He had just screamed at _Meg._

 

_But he had screamed at her for Dean._

 

That kiss- He hadn't had a chance to respond. Dean had looked so scared, scared that Cas would- run again? Reject him? Castiel couldn't have that. If nothing else, he needed to get rid of Meg, purely to give him a chance to reassure Dean. That being kissed by Dean had been incomparable, had made his body light up, and his chest feel like he was soaring.

 

“Fuck you Meg,” he said calmly, physically aware of Dean standing behind him, shifting uneasily, ready to jump in. Meg was frozen.

 

“I wasted so much of my life on you, thinking you were the only thing keeping me going, making me _me._ But you are the sole reason that I haven't lived until these last few weeks. Dean is good and kind and he is everything you could never be. Don't you dare touch him again. Leave, just fucking- Go.”

 

Meg was stood there, mouth agape, pulling in breaths as if she was winded. She looked almost quizzical, as if she didn't recognize him.

 

If he were in the mood, he would have forgiven her for that. He hardly recognized himself.

 

“Cas. Cas!” Dean said from behind him.

 

“What?” he snapped, before jerking upright, realising who he had snapped at. “D- Dean?”

 

“The police. It's okay.” There was a hand on his shoulder, reassurance, strength, but Cas' eyes were fixed on Meg's. Blurry and unfocused, but holding her steady, daring her to run, daring her to _stay_.

 

With a hiss, cutting through the sirens, now clear to Cas' clouded ears, Meg was through the open door and away.

 

-

 

“I, uh, I just need-” Castiel broke off, and walked on uncertain legs toward Dean's bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

 

Dean bit his lip, closing the door on the police officer who had, yet again, allowed Meg to get away.

 

He turned the lock, securely.

 

Dean was worried about Castiel. He was worried that he had fucked everything up. That he would lose his friend now-

 

He shook his head. It was unsurprising that Cas was hiding. Confronting Meg must have taken a lot, and then having to recount events for the police officer. No wonder he needed a moment alone to collect himself.

 

He huffed a sigh and turned to the meal he had been planning to try and cook. He shrugged and put everything back in the fridge, calling up a pizza place. Cas would probably need an ocean of melted cheese to get through tonight.

 

-

 

Castiel sat on the corner of Dean's bed, his head cradled in his arms, trying to drag in calming breaths.

 

It was ridiculous he felt so unnerved by giving a statement to a police officer. The woman had been quiet, calm and kind, and yet he felt like a failure, a pathetic excuse of a man, for allowing Meg to come in to Dean's home and hurt him.

 

Cas hadn't even had a chance to help Dean with his injuries. He was so shaken up that he hadn't been able to hold the swabs Dean still had from patching _him_ up.

 

He felt useless, he blamed himself. But, in the back of his mind, he was proud, too. He had stood up to Meg.

 

The expression on her face would be satisfying to think of for years to come.

 

He smiled grimly down at the floor, counting his breath in and out.

 

He stayed like that, frozen, just breathing, until he heard a knock on the door, and Dean's tentative voice, asking if he could come in.

 

Initially, he wanted to tell him no, that he wasn't ready. But that was unfair. Firstly, it was Dean's room, and secondly, he was. Ready. To see Dean, to talk to him, to apologise for not taking Meg's hit, to thank him for protecting him, to—

 

He wasn't ready to acknowledge the things Dean had said to Meg. He didn't know if they were true, or designed simply to enrage her.

 

Thirdly, he could smell pizza, and his stomach answered for him.

 

“Yes Dean, sorry. Please.”

 

Dean pushed his way in to the room, balancing two huge pizza boxes on one hand, and two beers clutched in the other.

 

“Sit back dude, get comfortable,” he said, nodding at the head of the bed.

 

Cas smiled a little at that, wondering what Dean must be thinking of him if he was allowing food and drink in his bedroom, on his bed. But, he did as asked, pushing himself back on the bed until his back hit the headboard. He took the beers from Dean to let him sit cross legged in front of Cas, the pizzas spread out between them, open and gooey, and perfect.

 

His mouth watered.

 

“Thanks Dean, sorry.”

 

Dean shook his head, mouth full of molten cheese. “Don't apologise, that must have been shitty for you, it's cool. So long as- you know, we're cool?”

 

Dean swallowed and looked up at Cas through his lashes, suddenly shy.

 

Cas understood the feeling.

 

“Yes, Dean. We're cool, very cool,” he answered seriously, taking his own huge bite before letting small smile touch his lips.

 

“Did you, uh, not want your beer?” Cas asked after a moment, watching Dean hold a slice high, letting the dangling strings of melted cheese fall in to his mouth.

 

“Huh?” he asked, distracted, getting cheese on his cheek. Cas sniggered. “Want your beer?” he repeated, indicating the bottles sitting on the table.

 

Dean frowned and hummed, “yeah,” before he got up and flopped back on to the bed right next to Cas.

 

Castiel smiled as he handed the beer across, sipping his own, enjoying the flavour mixing with the pepperoni and cheese, and Dean's body heat right next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

 

“You're a lot calmer than I though you would be,” Dean murmured, not looking up.

 

“Really?” Cas shrugged, thinking the same of Dean. “I'm a lot more stressed than I _ought_ to be.”

 

“Those things you said Dean...” Castiel trailed off, feeling Dean freeze up next to him. How he was asking, he didn't know. He could feel his chest squeezing, his breath trying to halt, his tongue trying to glue to the roof of his mouth but—

 

He wanted to know _more._

 

“And the, the uh, kiss...” He dared a glance at Dean. He was completely still, watching a slice of pepperoni slide from the top of the slice in his hand on a wave of yellow cheese.

 

Cas gripped and re-gripped the neck of his beer, tense, waiting.

 

“I-” Dean began, placing the slice carefully back in the box.

 

Castiel continued to watch the condensation run down the bottle in his hands.

 

“Look, Cas-” he broke off again, shifting a little, turning to face him. Cas could feel the rejection coming, amazed at how much it was hurting to even think that, the pain of Dean being angry with him before, nothing compared to the fear he was feeling now. Why was he even so desperate for this? How had he come to like a- _the_ man so much, in such a short space of time?

 

“Cas, will you just look at me?”

 

He flicked his eyes up, keeping his head tilted down, too scared to face Dean front on, needing the illusion of being able to escape.

 

Dean sighed, “can I- can I just-”

 

Dean's hand, calloused and warm was on his cheek, moving his head up so that he couldn't escape. He couldn't meet his eyes, there was no way-

 

Dean's forehead bumped gently into Cas', and on a breath he asked, “can I?”

 

Castiel wanted to recoil, not in horror but in surprise, in question, he wanted to meet Dean's eyes and make sure it was what Dean really wanted.

 

He had never been asked if he could be kissed before.

 

Instead he simply whispered “yes” under his breath.

 

Their lips met, Dean tasting of pizza, and Cas, no doubt, tasting of beer.

 

They slid together, opening up, and Dean's tongue gently licked in to Cas' mouth, soft and careful, tentative. Cas felt him sigh in to his mouth, his hand tightening in his hair.

 

There was a small smile on his lips as their tongues slid together, a strange rasp of their stubble catching.

 

It was the best kiss Castiel had ever had.

 

Dean pulled away, almost reluctantly, pressing one final kiss to Cas' lips before he sat up right with a small, secret smile, looking pleased and embarrassed.

 

Castiel just felt like he was floundering- He was still frozen, wondering, relishing the chills running up his spine, the butterflies in his belly.

 

They didn't speak. Castiel turned, resting his back against the headboard again, taking a sip of his beer. He licked his lips clean, tasting Dean there, sending new shivers down his spine.

 

He smiled, catching Dean doing the same from the corner of his eye.

 

They remained silent as they both picked up another slice of pizza, silent as they ate and drank, silent as slowly, Dean's breathing evening out.

 

Silent as Cas took the beer from his hand, his heart melting at the tiny smile on Dean's sleeping face.

 

Silent as he, too, drifted off to sleep, slumped on Dean's bed, warm and comfortable.

 

-

 

Dean awoke, nestled in the centre of his bed, drowning in the covers, happy.

 

He stretched out, wondering why he was disappointed that his arm met nothing but cool sheets until he remembered; _Cas._

 

He was sitting upright before his thought had even finished.

 

Cas was gone, but so were the pizza boxes and beer bottles-

 

The shower was running.

 

He slumped back on to his bed in relief. He hadn't frightened him off entirely. He was still in the apartment.

 

He rolled out of bed, finding himself wrapped up in the covers like a burrito, where he had clearly fallen asleep on top of them, next to Castiel. He grinned at the thought as he pulled out clean clothes. It had been peaceful, companionable. He hadn't felt uncomfortable sitting in silence, but had just enjoyed Cas' company, the sound of his breathing, the glow from having kissed him.

 

Kissed _him._

 

Lightning shot down his spine at the thought, but he quelled it. It wasn't anything he hadn't already decided was worth risking, trying.

 

He knew he liked Cas, the man was stunning, amazing. Dean was in awe of his strength. He could get over a paltry fear about asking a guy to date him. About doing anything more-

 

Especially when the kiss had lit him up from the inside, like no other kiss he had shared had done before.

 

He hadn't realised how much he had needed to kiss Cas until he had moved forward, inhaling his warmth, and pressed their lips together.

 

He just hoped that Castiel felt the same way.

 

Pulling on his hoodie, he pushed out in to the living room, finding Cas, fully dressed, leaning on the breakfast bar, chewing slowly on a slice of cold pizza.

 

Dean's heart stopped as he took in Cas' appearance. Grey beanie, white shirt over a long sleeved dark top, both sets of cuffs rolled up, and a pair of dark jeans. His socks had bees on them.

 

Dean wanted to fall to his knees for him.

 

He swallowed instead and offered him a weak smile, which Cas returned with a frown.

 

Would he ever understand that Dean wasn't disapproving?

 

He would have to actually _tell him._ He shuddered at the thought, then caught Cas' expression.

 

Hurt, sad, angry, frustrated, frightened.

 

“No, no, no, no, no- Cas. Do not pull those faces, do not look like that-” He stepped froward hurriedly, taking the slice of pizza from his hand and discarding in on the counter top. Dean grabbed Cas' shoulders and ducked until Cas was looking in to his eyes, the blue pained and worried. He was biting his lip.

 

Dean had upset him again. Could he get any less worthy of this man?

 

“Hey, Cas, no. You look amazing- I- I can't even. You're- fuck man, you gotta know that I'm attracted to you right? You're amazing! You're too good for me-”

 

He was cut off with a kiss.

 

Soft and delicate, but a kiss nonetheless.

 

Dean rocked back on his heels, smiling, bemused. “Huh.”

 

Cas bit his lip, but smiled. “Pizza?”

 

Dean's response was to steal Cas' half eaten slice, shoving it in his mouth before Castiel could object, causing him to pick up the rest of the box and march in to Dean's bedroom, dropping the box on his bed.

 

“Oh. No you didn't. Last night was a one off! Come on!”

 

Cas sat down and grinned, stuffing a fresh slice in to his face.

 

-

 

Dean shifted in his seat again, crossing his legs and folding his arms.

 

He looked up as the room's door banged open, but huffed out an irritated sigh as Benny, Charlie and a group of other students walked in.

 

He shifted again, crossing his legs the other way and gripping his pen in his fist.

 

“Hey brother, long time,” Benny greeted him as he sat next to him. Dean scowled. “Heard you were sick?”

 

The one time he had made the effort to be early to this damned class- “What? Oh, yeah. Um, well, you know. Some stuff came up.” He bit his lip, realising he was being as ass to his friend. That wasn't good enough. Not after his recent understanding. He had to try harder. It only worked when he put everything in and expected nothing back in return.

 

“Has it got anything to do with why you can't sit still in your seat?” Benny asked with a leering smirk.

 

“Hmm? What? No!” He forced his legs to relax, placing his notebook on his knees, scowling a little at Benny's implication, biting of the hint of a smile. “I just-”

 

“So, it's got something to do with the mysteriously absent Castiel then?” Charlie chipped in from Benny's other side.

 

Dean scowled again, folding his arms and focusing on Chuck as he stumbled in to the theatre, dropping a sheaf of papers and groaning loudly as he crouched to pick them up.

 

Dean had to give the man credit. _He_ couldn't sustain a hangover so late in the day.

 

Dean started fiddling with his pen, flipping it between his fingers. _Where was Cas?_

 

He was so worried that he had changed his mind, that Cas had had time to think over their teasing and banter, their one shared kiss that morning, and had thought better of- of what ever it was they had.

 

He clenched his jaw, thinking they really needed to _talk,_ just as Chuck began his lecture.

 

Cas wasn't there.

 

Castiel had changed his mind.

 

He had left. Again.

 

He glared at his notebook, feeling his heart sink and chest clench with every breath he took. So completely was he caught up by Castiel's obvious absence that he wasn't hearing a word Chuck said, nor, Charlie's whispered words until a fist caught him on the shoulder.

 

“Cas.” Charlie whispered as he looked up, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

 

As soon as her words made it through his misery he looked sharply to where the auditorium door was closing. There, grinning ear to ear, was Cas, walking straight toward him, not stopping until he was sitting next to dean, a soft “hey” of welcome whispered before he dug through his bags, retrieving his hand written notes.

 

Deans heart soared

 

-

 

“Heya, brother. I'm Benny,” Dean's friend introduced himself with an easy going smile as he stuck out his hand to shake.

 

Cas felt his chest tighten, and his tongue solidify in his mouth.

 

It was strange, Cas thought. Even now he expected Meg's brand of encouragement. He half expected her scathing words; “This is Castiel. An Accountant. _Shake his hand. Now. For Fu- You're an_ _embarrassment_ _, why can't you do_ _anything_ _normally. Say hello!_ ”

 

But- Dean stood near him. Silent, except for a small sniff in the cold air, the sound of his feet shifting as he moved his weight. There was no accusation, no condemnation, not even any expectation.

 

He knew that, with Dean, if he simply walked away from his friend, Dean would say something neutral and follow after him, making sure he was okay. He wouldn't be in trouble, he wouldn't let his friends dislike him-

 

“Hello Benny, I'm Cas. It's nice to meet you.” He found his hand embraced in the man's bear like paw and shaken roughly, but warmly.

 

“Hey Cas! Good to see ya again!” Charlie chirped from next to Dean.

 

“You too,” he smiled, meaning it. Dean's friends were not difficult to be around. Yes, it was still scary, yes he still had difficulty, no he wouldn't like to see them without Dean there, but- This was the easiest it had been since he had been a kid in that skate park.

 

With a surprised grunt, he found himself pulled in to a hug by the manic red head to a snort from Benny and a happy laugh from Dean.

 

_Dean._

 

He found himself grinning shyly at the man as Charlie let him down.

 

The look on the man's face as he had come in to the auditorium late had switched from- from almost broken, miserable, to joyous in a matter of seconds. He almost resented the kind woman in the finance office offering him an update on his course fees for making Dean feel bad.

 

Castiel hadn't been able to keep the answering grin from his face when Dean's sad frown had broken.

 

Dean truly did make him a happier, more confident person, and he did it without even knowing.

 

“So. Y'all fancy heading to a bar...” Benny trailed off, his gaze caught by something across the quad. “Who's that?”

 

Castiel looked in the direction Benny was staring in and found the breath caught in his chest.

 

_Would she never stop?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to do it again! Please don't kill me!! The next chapter's begun.. hopefully I wont leave you all hanging too long! 
> 
> Oh, also; legit question here. Do you, lovely readers of mine, wanna see some nookie in this fic? (With an increase in the rating?) Or shall I leave it up to your imaginations?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The end!!! Thank you so much to all of my lovely readers! With out you this fic would not have been written, your continued support has been fantastic! Each comment and kudos has meant a huge amount to me. You can still find me on [ Tumblr.](anonymousantonym.tumblr.com) Come say hi! 
> 
> Please note the change in rating, although, it's only gently explicit. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading! Thanks again!

 

“Oh for Fuck's sake!” Dean spat, already digging in his pocket for his phone.

 

Cas frowned, surprisingly calm, and turned to Meg. Even only a day apart, she looked even worse than she had before. Her hair was lank and greasy. She had a smear of dirt on her cheek and her clothes were a mess. 

 

She was stalking toward them. _Him._

 

“Those two,” Meg screamed, pointing directly at Castiel, Dean beside him, talking rapidly into the phone. “Do you all know what those two are?”

 

Someone near the back of the gathering crowd snickered. Benny shifted, squaring his shoulders.

 

For some reason, Castiel wasn't concerned. Not here.

 

“That piece of shit,” she called, waving her arm at Dean, “ _he_ is a self loathing, useless, worthless, piece of crap, who needs sad cases like _him_ around to make him feel better! Look! He's even given him some kind of makeover!”

 

“And you,” she said venomously, fixing Castiel with a glare. “You are pathetic. You can't ev-”

 

“Oh, for the lov- Just be quiet. Meg. I am done with you. We have already had this discussion. I am stronger than you, better than you. I don't even care what you have to say. I do not need you.”

 

He turned. He brushed the back of his hand against Dean's forearm, where he still stood talking to the police on the phone, and he walked away.

 

He felt like he was floating.

 

-

 

Dean found Castiel sat at the very back of Chuck's auditorium, staring blankly at the empty room, the empty projection screen.

 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked quietly, sliding in to the seat next to him.

 

Castiel hummed a reply, neither moving, nor indicating a true answer.

 

Dean chewed his lip a moment, then sat back and joined Cas in staring blankly at the room. For once he had no clue what Cas was thinking. 

 

“She's been arrested on a charge of actual bodily harm, assault, trespass, fraud, whatever they call stalking these days, and a couple of other things. They have her in custody, Cas.”

 

He only hummed again, so Dean continued to sit, just offering his company. They would have to move soon, they needed to give the police statements, but, for now, the police could wait. Dean closed his eyes and drifted.

 

He thought back to the things Meg had been screaming from the moment Castiel had turned his back and left, the accusations she had laid at each of their feet. Things he didn't understand how she had discovered- But things that the arresting police officers charge of stalking, trespass and intimidation would explain.

 

But Dean didn't care.

 

Two weeks ago, the things she had said would have crippled him. But now, sitting quietly in the company of Castiel he found he had everything he needed. She could say what she liked. It wasn't true any more.

 

He and Sam had talked. Dean now felt comfortable and secure with his brother away from him. Sam had told him he was still his brother, that he loved him, that he would always need him. Dean, in turn, had let him go, happily, to make his way on his own, to be his own man. Dean felt good about Sam. 

 

And Cas-

 

Dean didn't think he had replaced that desperation to feel useful with Cas' presence. Maybe at first, sure, but now?

 

He sneaked a look at Castiel. He was sitting silently, motionless, with his eyes closed. 

 

No, Dean had not replaced Sam's needs with this man's. Sure Cas had needed help, and Dean had freely offered it. But it had developed into something more within days. He recognized that now.

 

Cas didn't _need_ him, whether or not Castiel felt that way. The man was strong. Sitting there, processing, Dean knew he would be okay, with or without Dean.

 

And that strength was one of the many reasons that Dean wanted to keep Castiel. One of the reasons he _wanted_ him to stay. Dean didn't need Cas either, but he wanted him. He wanted his bright smiles and cocky sassing. He wanted his grumpy morning face, and patience in the kitchen. He wanted his handwriting and his messy hair, his kisses and his company.

 

Dean moved his hand and took Castiel's, threading their fingers together.

 

Cas didn't react.

 

They sat like that, hands together, in the silence of the room until the bell rang for the next class to begin.

 

“Come on, Cas,” he said gently, squeezing Cas' hand.

 

Castiel finally turned to look at him, opening his eyes. Dean bit his lip at the frighteningly calm expression on his face, blue eyes lucid and blank. But, Castiel nodded, squeezing his hand back briefly before pushing to his feet.

 

-

 

Castiel yawned hugely, his jaw cracking in the process. He blinked a few times, trying to focus before he stood, dazed, and shook the detective's hand.

 

He had been in a tiny interview room for hours, nothing more than tepid, acrid cups of coffee and one soggy, limp sandwich to sustain him since the police officers had asked him to go to the station to make his statement.

 

Finally, though, he was free to go.

 

_ Safe. _

 

He didn't feel safe.

 

His statement had been simple, but the detective had gone over details again and again.

 

Statements of their bank accounts and their spending. Meg's accounts had been frozen. She had left the apartment they had shared, the detective had told him. She had stopped attending her job, leaving no notice, nothing. She had disappeared off the map.

 

Cas had nodded, simply accepting, taking no enjoyment from Meg's dishevelled state, especially now he knew the cause. He had been homeless a few days. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. Even Meg.

 

The detective had shown Cas pictures of his own injuries, the bruising around his throat that Dean had photographed, the cuts and injuries elsewhere. Even knowing they had been well on the way to healing by the time Dean had made him allow the photographs to be taken, it had made him feel sick, pathetic and worthless.

 

A victim.

 

And now he was done. Just like that. Free and safe, despite how lost he felt, and allowed to go back to his home. A home that wasn't his, that Dean allowed him to stay in-

 

Castiel was disgusted with himself, his own feelings spiralling back down to nothing. 

 

That morning had held so much hope, teasing Dean, kissing him- He had not felt worthless then. He had felt wanted. He had felt warm. 

 

Waking up next to Dean at dawn, wrapping him up and clearing the room for him, he had felt worthy of the man who was so bright. Who drew him in, who had cared for him effortlessly.

 

Dean had said that he thought of Castiel as the sun, but Cas thought it was the other way around.

 

He was tainted and Dean was the one who shone.

 

He yawned again as he stumbled from the interview room, knocking in to the wall of the corridor leading to the main desk, and the way out. Out in to the night. Out in to uncertainty. 

 

He would not blame Dean for going home, having been released hours before Cas. The detective had been free with his information. 

 

Cas wouldn't blame him for not wanting him in his home any more, either. He no longer needed protecting, and he was worthless. A victim of domestic abuse and assault. A statistic. The police officer had been kind. Too kind. He had made it clear how Cas was now viewed.

 

Head down, he squinted against the bright lights of the reception area, wondering how he would get back to Dean's- he refused to think further than that.

 

He let out a surprised grunt, an 'ooft' as a body collided with his. 

 

Initially a jolt of terror ran like lightning down his spine, _Meg again-_ That fear he was surprised to feel once again.

 

Only- It wasn't.

 

Arms surrounded him and pulled him close. A smell of machine oil and cheap coffee. A hard, tall, strong body holding him.

 

“Dean?” His voice cracked.

 

“Who else did you expect, dumb-ass, you didn't think I'd leave did you?” Dean asked, smile faltering a little as Cas' expression must have given him away. That, yes, that was exactly what he had thought. He simply gazed at Dean, feeling completely off balance.

 

“Don't be an-” Dean broke off, holding Cas by the shoulders with strong hands, ducking to look into his eyes. 

 

“Of course I'd wait for you, Cas. Always.”

 

Dean smiled, tiny crinkles at the edge of his eyes softening his intent green stare, and highlighting the scratch Meg had left he previous day.

 

“Oh,” Cas replied, quietly, his thoughts nothing more than white noise, humming.

 

-

 

Dean was watching him when something clicked inside, like a valve releasing, like a switch being flicked on.

 

He blinked and sat up straight.

 

He had a box of noodles in his hand, a fork sticking upright out of the untouched meal. He remembered walking in to the apartment, remembered Dean on the phone, remembered being handed the food, remembered everything, but it was all like looking through smoke or distorted glass. His memories felt unreal.

 

Something had changed, and that something-

 

That was him.

 

_He didn't need to be a victim_. And, to Dean, he wasn't. Dean didn't think him useless, worthless. He never had. Why had he expected that, of all the times Dean had been there for him, he would desert him now? He had waited for him. He always would.

 

He looked up and found Dean's gaze on him still, and finally he actually looked back. He met his gaze. His eyes focussed and he saw the worry etched on Dean's face, the raw patch on his lip where he had been biting it.

 

Cas smiled. Wide. Suddenly surprised, happy.

 

“Thank you Dean,” he said, holding up the box of noodles as if in a toast. His stomach gurgled audibly in response.

 

Dean, frowned, a little thing, his lip twitching as if he wasn't sure if he should worry more, or relax.

 

Cas bit his own lip, sad that he had made his- Dean worry about him. He twisted the fork, scooping up as many noodles as he could, and imitating Dean's normal eating habits, shoving the entire forkful in to his mouth, groaning at the taste, his stomach desperate for food.

 

He chewed fast and swallowed, opening his eyes to find Dean still watching him, an incredulous expression on his face.

 

Then Dean broke, his expression dissolved. A giggle worked it's way out of Dean's chest, up his throat, and from his mouth in a surprised gurgle. He covered his mouth, eyes crinkling in a smile as he stared as Cas. 

 

“You-” The man couldn't continue and stalled, grinning now at Cas, who began to sit back, away from Dean, confused.

 

What had made him-

 

Dean leaned forward and kissed Cas' chin, coming away with a piece of noodle between his lips, which he licked away and swallowed.

 

“I- Oh.” Cas said, feeling embarrassment rise up, worry, fear-

 

“You amaze me.” Dean whispered, leaning forward again and placing a careful kiss to Cas' lips.

 

-

 

Dean sat back and leant against the arm of the couch. He felt the tension begin to drain from him.

 

Since Castiel had told Meg that he didn't need her, Dean had been worried about him. He had been _so_ quiet. When he had found him in Chuck's lecture room- But Dean knew that trying to draw him out wouldn't have worked. The man needed to work things out for himself. But, seeing him before and after his interview in the station, Dean had started to worry that he wouldn't. He had been concerned that he had slipped in to the dark depression that it had seemed he hadn't allowed himself to fall into in the past.

 

With a small smile, he allowed himself to watch Castiel's face as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, tasting Dean on it. Dean licked his own lips, only tasting chow mein, but feeling butterflies in his belly nonetheless.

 

He sighed out in relief as Cas smiled back, looking down at his food and picking up another fork of noodles. 

 

He would be okay. He was still _Cas._ He would always be okay, Dean thought.

 

“Hey, so-” he began, eyeing Castiel as he took a mouthful of his own food, watching Cas chew slowly, thoughtfully.

 

Cas looked over, swallowing deliberately. “Dean. I know- I know I've been weird today. I am sorry. I just- I'm fine. Now. Can we- Can we not? Not right now?”

 

“Not what?”

 

“Not talk, about everything, Dean. I just want to enjoy your company, right now. If that's okay? I just want to be with you. I was stupid earlier, thinking you wouldn't want me now. I know I have issues. And I'll deal with them, but we- if we're okay- I know we need to talk. This- between us, this is huge, beyond something we can just- I don't know. We do need to talk. I mean, we both thought we were straight until a few days ago, right? But- Not now. Not tonight. Tonight I just want to spend time with you. If that- Is that's okay?”

 

Dean smiled and put down his food carton. “Of course it's okay Cas.” He said, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief in his belly. “Hey, you don't mind if I have a shower while you finish up do you?”

 

No, Dean. Go ahead.” Cas smiled.

 

-

 

When he stepped from the shower, dressed in his sleeping clothes, he found Cas curled up on the sofa under a blanket, take out boxes neatly stacked on the counter.

 

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, but desperate- He couldn't let Cas sleep on that stupid sofa another night. Not now- not now he- He sighed, getting Cas' attention. Not now he was certain that he liked the guy, _liked_ him. The thought of sex with a man scared him, sure, but with Cas? All he wanted was to offer him comfort, anyway. He made to make sure he was looked after. It was not his job, but his pleasure, given freely.

 

“Come to bed Cas.”

 

-

 

Castiel almost choked as he swallowed in surprise at Dean's words. 

 

He had his hand held out, and he looked soft and gentle, and not at all expectant. Worried even.

 

Cas took a breath, thoughts racing.

 

But, he found the decision remarkably easy to make.

 

He wanted Dean, no matter what, inclusive of everything. He was beautiful. Inside and out. 

 

He looked down and turned his phone screen off, where he had been looking in to therapy options, and swung his legs off the sofa levering himself upright. Silently, with a small smile, he took Dean's hand and allowed him to lead him to his bedroom.

 

This felt so different to the previous night.

 

Then, Dean had been offering comfort, camaraderie. Now- the air was leaden with something more- But, still, Dean wasn't suggesting anything. There was no expectation. Dean would allow him to sleep on the sofa again if he wished, would let him run.

 

He didn't wish.

 

Shyly he pulled back the cover and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's.

 

Dean sat down slowly, not looking away, chewing that sore patch on his lip. 

 

Suddenly, Castiel knew exactly what he needed to do.

 

He leaned across the bed and kissed that reddened patch, feeling the breath Dean drew in at the suddenness of his action. It was… strange. Appeasing and satisfying to surprise the man, to have him smile back warmly, to see his widened eyes as Cas lay back on the bed, sliding his legs under the blankets. 

 

Meg had never been surprised or pleased to have him in her bed. This- this was leaving him giddy.

 

He found that he _wanted_ Dean. His touches, his kisses, his eyes on him. He had never felt so comfortable or wanted. And, equally, he knew, if they did nothing, if they never did, that, too, would be enough, to simply have Dean by his side, every day.

 

He grinned.

 

Dean leaned in and kissed the smile from his face, eyes glinting.

 

-

 

Dean pulled back, finding himself leaning on his elbow, hovering over Castiel, his eyes bright, a soft smile on his just parted lips.

 

“So...” he said, taking a breath, holding Cas' eyes. “No talking, but kissing is good?”

 

Cas bit his lip, still smiling. “Kissing is good Dean,” he nodded. “Kissing is- very good.” 

 

Dean found Cas' arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down, in, their lips meeting again. 

 

Cas smelt warm, like home and tasted of takeout still, but he was perfect, his tongue swiping against Dean's bottom lip. It sent shivers down his spine. He'd never been kissed so carefully, with so much regard to his movements, his comfort. 

 

He opened up, leaning in to Castiel's body more, settling against his chest as he hitched the blanket up over them both, cocooning them together.

 

Dipping his tongue into Cas' mouth, he laid his palm against his cheek, sighing at the sensation of stubble, toying with his unruly hair with just the tips of his fingers. 

 

Kissing Castiel was so different to any other time he had kissed anyone. He barely thought about the fact that Cas was a guy, only that that was different and not unpleasant in any way. It was _Castiel_ after all. 

 

How could he want Cas to be something else? Cas was perfect.

 

He groaned in to Cas' mouth at that thought, knowing that he didn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, that the man beneath him, beginning to pant in to their kiss, was right for him.

 

They fit so well together.

 

-

 

Dean's groan sent a white-hot streak of fire through Cas' fluttering belly and straight to his cock. It was a reaction like he had never had before, and it made him pull back, breathing hard, blinking into Dean's suddenly worried face.

 

“No-” he breathed, running one hand through Dean's short hair, the other gripping his waist, pulling his body even closer to his. “Don't stop. More kissing.” Dean raised an eyebrow but moved in again, resting his chest heavily on Cas'. It felt amazing. Like he was being grounded, like he was wanted.

 

God, he had never felt so wanted.

 

He dug his hand in to Dean's side, feeling the muscle twitch under his fingers, hearing the breathy gasp as he hoisted Dean on top of him, rolling his hips, and his hard cock, in to Dean's lower belly.

 

Cas stilled when he realised that Dean had frozen on top of him, his eyes wide, mouth open. 

 

Surprised? Shocked? 

 

Angry?

 

“Huh,” Dean said after a moment, the contraction of his stomach muscles with the noise, sending a stab of pleasure through Cas' cock- Something he did not want if Dean didn't want this. If it was too much, too fast, or simply the end of their- whatever.

 

Dean's lips twitched and slowly, his eyes fixed on Cas', pushed himself up Castiel's body until Cas could feel the hard line of Dean's cock pressed against his hip, his thigh draped between Cas' own.

 

He gasped aloud in surprise, having not anticipated Dean's arousal at all, even less than he had expected his own. For some reason, Dean's soft looks and gentle treatment of him had left him presuming that Dean liked him, yeah, maybe thought he looked nice, but was sexually attracted to him? No.

 

With a whine of want he surged up to capture Dean's lips with his again, sliding his hand down lower, to cup at the rise of Dean's ass as he rolled his hips up again, feeling a thrill ride through him at the sensation of Dean's own thrust against his body.

 

It was overwhelming to feel so desperately wanted, to know that Dean was aroused by him, his kissing, his body, his self. It was euphoric. 

 

Dean's lips left his mouth, searching down his neck, kissing and licking and nipping. Cas could only throw his head back, breathing hard against the onslaught. He let out a surprised “ah!” as Dean's thumb slid up his torso, swiping across his nipple- another sensation he had never felt. 

 

He recognized the coil of tension in his gut, was amazed that he was so close, so fast. 

 

What was Dean even doing to him?

 

“Ah! Dean- I-” he muttered, rolling his hips up again, groaning aloud as the pressure of Dean's cock slid against his own.

 

Dean's lips left his neck and in between peppering his face with short kisses he huffed out a breathy “me too.”

 

Their joint thrusts began to speed up, to stutter. Cas' hand gripped Dean's side under his t-shirt as that heat grew. Dean's hand tightened in his hair, pulling as his breath caught.

 

“Fuck- Cas!” Dean gasped out as he grunted and thrust hard, stilling. 

 

Dean's frozen body, that long final moan, the wet heat against Cas' clothed hard on- that sent him sailing over the edge himself, thrusting once more against Dean, whimpering out his own orgasm, wrapping him arms tight around Dean's solid body, holding him close, tight.

 

Dean huffed out a laugh in to his neck. Cas could feel him smiling, and he grinned in response. That had been- Good. Very, very good.

 

“Well, I'm a convert,” Dean whispered before he pushed up, pressing a smiling kiss to Cas' lips once again.

 

-

 

Cas woke up alone in Dean's bed, warm and comfortable, well rested, but- lonely. 

 

He stretched, fighting the disappointment in his belly.

 

After they had both cleaned up and changed, and Cas had cleaned his teeth, they had settled back in to the bed together, wrapped up in one another, safe and happy.

 

They had both fallen asleep smiling.

 

But now, Dean was gone-

 

A muffled curse sounded from the kitchen, followed by a metallic clang.

 

Cas smiled, wide, realising Dean had not left, but was in the kitchenette.

 

With butterflies in his stomach he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. He grabbed Dean's soft, warm hoodie and pulled in on before walking quietly to the door and opening it.

 

He paused in the door way, watching Dean's wide shoulders as he stood mixing batter in a bowl, frowning hard at the recipe book he had bought. 

 

Dean was making breakfast. Cas smiled, softly and padded forward silently on bare feet.

 

He snaked his arms around the taller man, making him jump in surprise. “Jesus, Cas!” Dean swore, his shoulders already relaxing back down, a smile on his lips as he cranes his neck back to kiss Cas.

 

Cas leaned in, savouring the kiss, tightening his fingers against Dean's chest.

 

“Dean?” he asked in a whisper, watching over his shoulder as he began whisking the mixture again.

 

He hummed a response and Cas smiled, scared and happy, ducking his head down to rest his forehead against Dean's shoulder blade.

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Dean stilled. He slowly placed the bowl on the counter and turned around in Cas' hold, making Cas look up, to catch his green gaze, to see his wide smile.

 

“Yes. Yes Cas.”

 

They kissed, long and slow, smiling. Happy.

 

Cas moved his clothes in to Dean's- their bedroom.

 

They talked.

 

Dean made pancakes. They were pretty good.  


 

 


End file.
